Accepting a Mortal Truth
by FindingProvidence
Summary: Since his youth, Perseus Jackson questioned the reason for his existence. Nothing was forever. Why try building something to last if that were the case? In the end, even immortality was a beautiful lie. He'd long since come to terms with his limited life thanks in part to his heritage. Yet so few accepted his truth as their own. He supposed a demonstration might be in order.
1. No Gods, No Masters

1\. No Gods, No Masters

* * *

Seventeen boring years.

Perseus Jackson had lived his life for seventeen agonizingly mundane years. He knew that many teenagers went through angsty phases. Hormonally speaking, it was a natural part of growing up, reaching adulthood. Perhaps it was some form of tribulation, a rite of passage that everybody had to go through. If that were the case then he was sure there would be no award for him.

His body hummed with excitement. With the monster before him, how could it not?

The seventeen years wouldn't become eighteen.

For too long, he'd waited for something― _anything_ ―to happen and prove his mother's words right. He needed validation that he wasn't living his life for no reason. The grip of nihilism was not easily shaken when one's very existence was supposedly impossible. After all, Perseus was a half-blood; equal parts human and deity.

According to his mother―who in turn received her information from his father―it was natural for him to feel angsty. It was an innate part of who he was, etched into his biological code, his very genetic structure. He was built to destroy and ravage, which was fitting when one took his name into account. There was an urge, one that tempestuously shifted beneath his skin, telling him to _act_ as he pleased.

He was almost always restless, which some people might have attributed to his attention-deficit-hyperactive-disorder. Apparently, both his ADHD _and_ his dyslexia were just another part of being a half-blood. The former prepared him for being in the heat of battle, while the latter wired his brain to read Greek and Latin. Unfortunately, while such attributes might have been useful for an Achaean warrior, Perseus lived most of his life as a civilian. A civilian who still required an education by law.

With that said, all forms of school were basically hell for him. The teachers didn't treat him _too_ differently when they were told of his… deficiencies… though many of his peers weren't quite so understanding.

For years he'd endured the constant snickering when he failed to read what was written on the board. Or how he was always the last one to finish a test because the words just never clicked.

Children were naturally inclined towards innocent cruelty, which he learned very early on in life. He, of course, was no different, although he figured that his form of callousness was a bit more… vile. It was less that he was ignorant of his actions' consequences and more that he really couldn't bring himself to care all that much.

The first person he punched was a ten-year-old girl. Her name was Leticia, a bully who thought that because she scored high grades, it entitled her to mock and disparage those who didn't. For five months, Perseus endured her remarks about his poor grades, her remarks about him not knowing the difference between left and right gradually building his anger.

Eventually, he'd proven to her that he indeed _did_ know the difference, by proceeding to slam his tiny fist into her cheek, pointing out that he used his left hand. Since they were alone, nobody saw what he'd done. Leticia herself hadn't come out and accused him either, no doubt afraid of what he could do in the future. In that moment, Perseus felt vindicated. His anger had swelled up after months of belittlement, and though he lost his cool, it worked out perfectly in the end.

Soon, nobody bullied him at school. Rumors flew that he was dangerous, a violent delinquent. He never bothered to try and fix his image during elementary school.

From the day he was born, people would judge him based solely off of his appearance. After all, his hair was naturally two-toned. Many of his bangs were gray, from the front of his windswept locks the gray sprinkled in with the black that filled up the rest of his head. Everywhere from the hair by his ears, up across his temples and to his forehead, one could easily see the salt-and-pepper effect.

Perseus wasn't one to be vain, and while he liked the look, it certainly made it hard to be taken seriously. Too many adults inferred that he was an attention-seeking youth, when in truth, he just didn't care to dye his hair so that it would look _normal_. In the end, he settled for telling people it was a rare genetic mutation.

The irony of such a claim was not lost on him.

A year after the incident with Leticia, his mother pulled him aside to ask if his teacher's suspicions were correct. Too many children who once mocked him ended up sporting bruises, never again taunting Perseus, instead seeming quite fearful when he was around. The educators had become rightfully wary that it was Perseus who was causing trouble.

He'd admitted it to his mother, not wanting to lie to her, also stating the reasons for his violent outbursts.

It was then that his mother gave him the information about his heritage. Most of the information, at least. She refused to reveal who Perseus' father was, something which irritated him to no end. Either way, she wouldn't budge, which he could grudgingly respect, even at eleven years old.

Something that fascinated him, though, were the monsters she warned him about. When he'd learned about the monstrosities who wanted little more than to rip the meat from his bones, he didn't cower.

Far from it, in fact.

He welcomed the wonderful world of terror that his eyes were opened to. Even at a young age, his tedium with regards to the life he led was palpable. If excitement found him in the form of blood-thirsty monsters… well… beggars certainly couldn't be choosers.

Yet, nothing came of it. There hadn't been a single monster attack in the five years since learning of his bloodline. Perseus had waited patiently, preparing himself for the day by joining a few sports clubs during middle and high school. True, basketball and track weren't exactly useful when fighting monsters, but at least they conditioned his body a fair bit.

He supposed it wasn't quite fair to the normal teens, though, since he was gifted with a superhuman condition. He wasn't extremely competitive, especially when he could put the minimum effort into a sport and still outshine everybody else by running faster, jumping higher, and reacting quicker than a normal human.

If he'd wanted, it would have been trivial to surpass everybody else and become a prodigy at his age. While that certainly would have broken the boredom, in the end, nothing _truly_ exciting would come of it. Perhaps a career as an athlete, but little else.

No, Perseus wanted more than that. He _needed_ more.

"And apparently the gods have finally seen fit to give me the chance."

The monster―a Chimera, if he was remembering Greek mythology correctly―circled him predatorily. Three heads, one of a lion at the front, a goat in the middle, and a snake for a tail, all leveled their fierce eyes on his form. For a moment, Perseus was tempted to run away. He didn't know if the creature would chase him out of the park and into the streets, but the idea was disregarded nonetheless. The moment had finally come for him to fight, to earn his place and to prove to himself that there was a reason for his continued existence.

Perseus looked around, noting how oddly vacant the park was. Considering the time, there should have been far more humans around. For years, he'd crossed the very same park to get home. Since it was late-February, basketball was over and track wouldn't start until March, meaning he'd been going home to rest.

At least, that had been the plan.

Perseus cracked his neck, eliciting audible pops as he rolled his head. He was fairly confident that the fight would end in his favor. After all, even though he didn't know who his father was, it really didn't matter. Bellerophon killed the Chimera long ago without any fancy abilities. A brick of lead and a flying horse were good enough. Perseus was far from defenseless, even without an object in hand.

Rather, he _was_ the weapon.

For a brief second, both of them tensed as they prepared to attack.

Without further hesitation, the Chimera sprang forward with its powerful hind legs. Its mane rippled in the wind as Perseus ducked underneath its soaring form. He managed to roll his head just enough to dodge the snake that nearly bit into his nose.

Narrowing his eyes, he stood up from his crouch, taking a few steps back. The Chimera snarled at him, spittle dripping from the lion's teeth. The goat-head bleated for a moment before it spat a stream of fire. A scathing heat nearly engulfed his back as he jumped away. From the corner of his eye, he caught the monster lunging, claws aimed for his face.

Perseus slapped the paw away from him, though at a cost. A few bloody gashes were opened up on his right forearm due to his reckless action.

The Chimera was about to pounce on him once more, only to be stopped when Perseus raised his uninjured arm.

He snapped, thumb and middle finger slipping away from one another.

Immediately, the paw which had been slapped exploded in a shower of blood and fur and bone. A low screech of pain left the Chimera's multiple heads when its appendage was crippled.

While the wound was grievous, the paw remained somewhat intact. Less than half was gone, though a fair chunk had been shredded away and left nothing but a bloody, mangled mess. The monster glanced down at the injury, then back up at Perseus, who was frowning.

"Hm, that was supposed to take off most of your leg…" he muttered suspiciously. "It must work differently for monsters then? That's news to me. Too bad… I put quite a bit of power into that one…"

The monster lost some of its vicious enthusiasm in the face of his ability.

It was an understandable reaction, he figured. His power―no doubt due to his lineage―was not one to be overlooked. He had spent years trying to learn what his special ability was, since according to his mother, most half-bloods were gifted with a few. Usually, they were based on a child's parentage. Examples included children of Poseidon controlling water, children of Zeus had their lightning, and children of Hades could summon the dead.

At the age of fifteen, after four years of searching, Perseus discovered his ability. Most organic material he touched, could be opened. As long as it could be conceptually wounded, it was free game to be opened. Not in a pleasant way, either. It was a violent _rending_ instead of tender coercion. His power was about tearing, piercing, shredding, ripping, and breaking whatever may have resisted. It truly depended on _how_ he wanted to use his power.

If he wanted a neat hole, then one would be pierced on what he touched. If he wanted a jagged slash, then his power would tear.

It was quite useless in his day to day life. His ability had no subtlety to it, instead opting to use brute force to accomplish its means. Additionally, it could not be used on inanimate objects, only useful against that which could be hurt. In a way, Perseus felt that it suited his personality.

Unfortunately, it was also taxing on his mental and physical stamina. The more damage his ability inflicted, the more drained he felt. He supposed no power came without cost. That was in addition to his fairly bare-bones understanding of what his power was. He was sure there was more nuance that he just couldn't feel.

Perseus shifted his weight when his opponent growled loudly. The Chimera, choosing not to move with a fresh wound, reared both its lion and goat heads back, then belched out more jets of fire.

With twin streams rushing his way, Perseus moved behind a tree. He hid for a few seconds, knowing that his cover was practically useless in the situation. Soon, the tree was on fire, leaving him no choice but to abandon it.

With no time to stop, he kept crouched and moved around the edges of some nearby bushes. His foe couldn't seem to pinpoint his location, though it was intelligent enough to know that he was still alive. The three heads constantly swiveled back and forth, trying to find where he'd gone.

Biding his time, Perseus slipped his backpack from his shoulders and waited. As soon as all three heads were looking elsewhere, he made a dash toward the Chimera, leaving the bushes and alerting his foe. Years of training his speed worked in his favor as his muscles exploded with vigor, sending him forward in a burst of speed that surprised the monster. After the fourth step, he reached his target.

Striking out with his hand, Perseus caught the snake head as it tried to lash out at him. Using his forward momentum the teen pulled sharply. Hearing a wail of garbled pain, Perseus skidded to a halt and smirked as he held up the serpent in his hand tauntingly. Black blood leaked from where he'd ripped the snake free, dripping down and splattering onto the ground.

With the Chimera missing its tail he figured it was about thirty-three percent less dangerous. Dropping the serpent, Perseus got into a basic boxing stance, much like he'd seen in movies. Without warning the monster leaped at him. Sidestepping the attack, he rammed his fist into his opponents hindquarters, just barely missing the opportunity to punch its chest.

The Chimera was knocked away by the strength behind his blow, flailing pitifully through the air for a second before crashing into the ground. When it stood, Perseus only shook his head and snapped once more. Blood erupted from the beast's back thigh, making it falter on wobbly legs.

Again, the wound was far less serious than it should have been. Even so, it would slow the Chimera down enough to where Perseus would have no further problems. The injury on his arm was beginning to bother him, and he was eager to finish off his already beaten foe. Moving on bouncy feet, he closed the distance between them. Avoiding the lion's snapping jaw, he swiveled and backhanded the head away. Instead of stopping, Perseus planted one foot against the monster's ribs and jumped up, smashing his fist into the bottom of the goat's jaw. A few teeth were knocked loose from the head, staggering the Chimera back several feet.

"Well, it was fun for a little while. Maybe if you'd known what I could do… and maybe if you were just a little bit smarter… you might have gotten me," he said, wondering if the Chimera could understand what he was saying. Shaking his head, the young man lifted his hand and prepared his final blow. "From what I understand, though, your kind doesn't really need to fear death. Come back and try again when you reform."

With a resounding snap, the final two heads spurted black blood and brain matter. The beast shuddered for a second, quivering vigorously before it slumped and fell to the ground with a thud. Perseus blinked as the monster dissolved into a shimmering gold dust right in front of him.

He stared curiously and knelt down to run his fingers through the substance. It was fine and silky, far different from sand. Perseus didn't particularly like sand. It was coarse, rough, irritating... and it got _everywhere_.

The smell of smoke soon filled his nostrils, bringing him back to reality. With his adrenaline slowly petering out, he looked at the burning park around him. A few trees crackled as their wood was torched, the flames encroaching upon his position. Cursing, Perseus grabbed his backpack from the bushes and ran, hoping that the police wouldn't be knocking on his door later that night.

 **[[AaMT]]**

Sally Jackson wouldn't describe herself as a 'helicopter mom'. While she worried about her son like any good mother would, she tried to give him a childhood that was not bathed in her shadow. She loved Perseus more than anything else in the world, that much was true, however Sally would have been damned if she ever became overbearing.

They were two fundamentally different people. She was a human, fully mortal, although with the added benefit of being able to see through the Mist. Her son, on the other hand, was a half-blood. There were going to be problems in his life that she simply couldn't help him with. He would need to grow on his own, into a person who would manage himself with confidence in the supernatural world. Her desire to see Perseus grow into his own was one of the reasons she'd told him about what he was at the age of eleven.

That given, Sally was still a loving parent, so when she saw her son walk into the house with two long and bloody cuts on his arm, she just about began to cry.

"What happened!?" she asked as Perseus threw down his backpack and sighed heavily. "Nevermind, don't answer that right now. I'm going to clean that up and then we're going to the hospital. On the way there, you're going to explain _everything_ that happened, do you understand?"

"Yeah, sure," Perseus replied noncommittally. His lackadaisical attitude would have rankled Sally more, had there not been blood leaking down his arm, falling to the tile floor below.

Rushing into the bathroom, Sally rummaged through several cabinets as she searched for gauze. Perseus stepped through the doorway not a moment later, turning on the faucet and washing the wound casually, although Sally caught a grimace cross his face every now and then. She peered closer at the injury, seeing that the cuts weren't _too_ deep, although they would probably scar over nonetheless.

"Here, let me see that."

Taking her son's arm, she moistened a washcloth and began to tenderly pat the damaged area. Her eyes never left Perseus' forearm, a melancholic grip slowly tightening its grasp around her heart. It squeezed, sending chills through her entire body, as she realized that her fears were bearing fruit. It had been a long time coming. Looking away from the cuts, she stared at her son's sickly green irides.

She'd always found those eyes odd. She certainly didn't have green eyes, nor did Perseus' father. Neither of Sally's own parents had green eyes as far as she could recall. In the end, she figured it was a recessive gene or something similar. She was no geneticist, after all, so her knowledge on the subject was rudimentary at best.

Having cleaned his wound, Sally began to apply the gauze straight from the roll, wrapping it around her son's arm. Ripping off the end, she tucked it into the bottom layer that was secure on Perseus. After finishing with the gauze, she applied some elastic bandages to hold the cotton in place. When the bandages were fastened properly she stepped back and sighed.

"Alright, let's go. We'll discuss the situation in the car," Sally said softly, cupping Perseus' cheek. Leaning forward, she placed a quick kiss on his forehead. "I'm just glad you're okay for the most part."

"When wouldn't I be?" He asked genially, though his eyes held real affection that set Sally at ease. More often than not, she would hear his overly amiable tone, which she was quite used to, when he spoke to one of his acquaintances. Seeing the collected edge in his eyes and general countenance, though, she felt quite relieved that he was not directing his artificial attitude toward her. Usually, her son would only bring those expressions out when he felt secure. They were far more genuine than anything he allowed himself to show in public.

Sally had always worried that her son never made any good friends. Of course, she could understand why that would be. He certainly wasn't normal.

When it came to standardized education, he wasn't exactly a good role model. However, he actually _tried_ to improve his grades. When it came to sports, he was exceptional by all standards. In that aspect, though, he really didn't care too much. She was sure that his demeanor was confusing and infuriating for his peers, especially when it came to his general behavior.

Undoubtedly, some people might have seen him as warm and friendly. Those were the ones who met him when he first started high school. Much to her chagrin as a parent, her son tended to disregard the artificial acquaintances that surrounded him. There was another group who knew him a bit better though. Since Perseus stayed in the same school district as when he was younger, there were some students who must still have remembered him from his brasher, more violently inclined days.

"Let's just go," Sally intoned with exasperation.

Holding his hands up in mock surrender, Perseus followed her as she picked up her keys and pulled on a coat. While it seemed that the wound wasn't giving him too many troubles, Sally could say that he would definitely need sutures. They moved into the car, a used 2003 Acura TL that Sally bought some time back. Though it was six years old, she really did feel like it was a reliable vehicle.

Once they were on the road, Sally glanced at her son from the corner of her eye. "Alright, what happened?"

He scratched his nose and hummed to himself. "Something exciting, at least…"

"…Perseus…"

Sighing, the teen leaned his head back and covered his eyes, using his uninjured arm to do so. "I was just walking through the park―you know, the one I always cut across―minding my own business when the Chimera came out of nowhere. It was obviously hungry, so I decided to indulge it. Ended up mangling its paw, ripping off the snake tail, blowing out a chunk of its thigh, then killed it. I would've liked to fight for a bit longer… but the Chimera looked so pitiful… I just decided to put it out of its misery. Did you know that monsters dissolve into gold dust when they die? It kinda surprised me."

Sally clutched the wheel tighter when she heard that the Chimera attacked her baby boy. Certainly, said monster was one of the most terrible to ever live in Greek myth. Originally, Bellerophon killed the Chimera before the time of Heracles. The story which depicted the fight was fairly lackluster, and Sally doubted that it was as simple as it all sounded.

"Chimera… well… that's quite the feat…" she muttered to herself, suddenly feeling lightheaded. "Alright―okay―yeah―that's… I mean this day was sure to come… I just hoped that it wouldn't. I held naïve hope that you could just live a normal life, no monsters or anything crazy putting you in danger. I guess it was pretty stupid of me to ever believe something like that could happen."

Perseus put his arm down to glance at his mother. "We both knew that _eventually_ something would come along to ruin the peace. It was only a matter of _when_ not _if_. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad for a break from the mundanity, I just always thought I would wake up one day and say 'This is it. Today will finally start the rest of my true life.' Instead, I got up this morning expecting to go through my regular, tedious routine again. The attack was surprising, though not unwelcome."

Letting out a strangled noise, Sally felt like slamming her head into the dashboard. Her son was surely an odd one; what with his constant search for something to spice his life up. It was strange that he never brought home any girls in order to do just that. After all, a good fling was something that could revitalize a person.

Why Perseus couldn't be a normal teenage boy was beyond her. Sally would have much rather preferred he seek the company of young women instead of fights to the death against legendary monsters.

Her heart could at least handle dealing with a few teen girls here and there. She idly wondered if it was too late for her to impart some sexual advice. Perhaps then it would get him thinking with his lower head and not his… borderline-nihilistic brain.

Sneaking a quick glance at Perseus' clavicle, she managed to catch a hint of silver. "You still wear the necklace I gave you, right?"

The teen reached up and held out the silver necklace. "Of course. You told me that it was a family heirloom. I wouldn't stop wearing this for the world... since you're the one to give it to me." He wouldn't meet her gaze as he spoke, though she could see a tinge of red coloring his normally collected countenance.

"Oh, I did say that didn't I?"

"Were you lying or something?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.

Sally thought about the question. "Not really. It is a family heirloom, though it doesn't actually come from _my_ part of the family. It was your Dad's. He gave it to me so that I could, in turn, give it to you. He knew that half-bloods start giving off a scent to monsters when they enter adolescence. That necklace is enchanted by his own power, which he said should keep you safe for the most part. Only monsters that were literally right next to you should have been able to smell you, meaning that you just had really bad luck today with the Chimera."

"Ah," he replied coolly, twisting the necklace in his fist. "So it was from him. Motherfucker…"

"Perseus… language…" Sally said shaking her head. She bit her bottom lip at hearing the disdain in her son's voice. It was clear from a young age that he held his father in low opinion. When it came down to it, Sally couldn't rightfully blame him for thinking such either.

"Don't you think it's time that you told me his name."

At that, she faltered a bit. Once half-bloods learned the truth about their heritage monsters typically hunted them even more doggedly. If a half-blood were to learn the actual name of their divine parent, that only put their scent at an even higher level. If she were to tell Perseus who sired him, undoubtedly he would need to leave her. She would need to say goodbye to her only baby and send him to the camp.

A tense silence pervaded the suddenly cramped quarters of the Acura. Neither spoke for several minutes as they watched the traffic pass. Feeling her lips chapped, Sally licked them before she spoke.

"I'll tell you."

Perseus turned to her in surprise. "Really? If all it took was me getting attacked then I should've gone monster hunting years ago!"

"I'll tell you," Sally reiterated. "Just… give me a week to get things ready. Once you learn, you can't stay here, untrained and unprepared for a world full of other dangerous monsters. You have to go to a camp nearby which takes care of half-bloods. A home away from home, if you will."

"A camp? Like… summer camp or something?"

"More or less. Your father didn't say much, only that this place would train you and get you ready for whatever may come. He hasn't been around, Perseus, but he cares for you. He told me all these things to make sure you stayed safe, that we _both_ stayed safe," she explained quietly. "He told me just about all he could regarding the way things might play out regarding you. Like I said, that necklace was meant to keep you safe for the most part."

Perseus made a noise that sounded similar to a grunt of annoyance. "So he gave me some magic jewelry and that makes it okay for him to completely forget about us? If he's some kind of super-powerful god, why can't he stop by every now and then? Not even a letter, a note, another gift. One present for me when I was born and then he washes his hands of us… like he just fulfilled an obligation to help… not because he actually wanted to do it. If you ask me, that sounds like a real dick move."

The car slowly stopped in front of a red light. Once again the awkward quietude came back and engulfed the both of them.

Sally pursed her lips, replaying the words in her mind. "You shouldn't be so harsh on him," she finally said, glancing at her son tiredly.

Giving an indignant snort, he looked out the window and crossed his arms. "I still can't understand why you defend him. I mean, what has he ever done for us, Mom? Did he even love you? Or were you-"

" _Enough, Perseus!_ Don't say anything else, I'm tired of hearing you talk about it," she cut him off before he could continue. Her hands tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles turning white under the tension. She knew that it wasn't exactly his fault for believing what he did. It was her own fault for not explaining anything about his father, in fact. If she'd taken the time to tell him more about their relationship, and perhaps why it wasn't possible for him to stay around, Perseus could have accepted it.

The traffic light turned green.

She supposed that telling him more wouldn't hurt anything. After all, he was leaving soon anyway. Giving him more information was only right.

"I'm sorry for snapping," Sally said carefully. "Your father and I… we didn't… just meet one day and suddenly decide to have a baby. Nor were you a mistake, Perseus. We met when I was in my sophomore year of college. I already told you that my parents both died in a plane crash, while my uncle died a few years later from cancer, just after I graduated high school. Well, thankfully, Uncle Rich left me everything he had, along with an endowment policy that'd accumulated a decent amount of money. It was enough to help me pay for parts of my university tuition."

Perseus nodded along with the explanation. "Yeah, I remember you told me about that. Rich really held in there. Didn't let you drop out of high school like you wanted to, even though he knew it was so that you could help take care of him. He was a good guy."

"He really was… anyway, like I said, I met your father my second year at university. I was actually out shopping with some of my friends at the time. We met in an antique store, literally bumping into one another. I actually pushed him into something―accidentally, by the way―and broke a few random knick-knacks. So, of course, he had to pay for them. Well, in the end, I made it up to him by buying dinner for the both of us."

Sally paused, smiling at the recollection. "He was quite interesting. The entire time we were talking, I knew that there was something different about him. After that, I asked him if we could meet again. He said yes… and so we started dating. We were together for two-and-a-half years. I moved out of the dorms after my sophomore year and into an apartment, so he came to live with me. For a deity, being domestic with a mortal is almost unheard of. For him to stay with me like that, to always make time for me, to celebrate when I got good grades and to go to summer blockbusters with me… it was definitely something special. When we learned I was pregnant… it was the first time I ever saw him looking… insecure."

Glancing at her son, she noticed him staring at her in rapt attention. He abruptly tried to play off his interest in the story by averting his eyes, though Sally knew that he was still enraptured by the story of his father.

They were nearing the hospital, giving her incentive to finish telling Perseus what he wanted to know. "He was definitely scared of being a father again. He'd never actually sired a mortal child before, only divine ones."

She pulled the car into the hospital's parking lot and turned to Perseus. "I'll tell you the rest later, before you leave for the camp. You should know that even though it was his choice to leave us, it wasn't exactly because he _wanted_ to. His past was catching up to him, a very dark past that he just didn't want to burden us with. If his brothers found out about the two of us… they would have used our lives to guarantee his compliance in their plans. Apparently, there's another war brewing for the Greeks, and a Great Prophecy was delivered some time ago. Lines are being drawn, and his relatives aren't exactly known for their compassion. He needed you to become stronger so that you could face what was to come. _That's_ why he left."

For some time, Perseus stared blankly at the dashboard, driving Sally's anxiety up a few notches. She looked at his arm but saw no blood. Just when she was about to check for a fever, he turned to her with an incredulous expression. His next words only proved that her son was smarter than most people gave him credit for.

"My Dad's a Titan?"

 **[[AaMT]]**

Perseus cautiously ran his fingers over the two lines of sutures on his arm. The thin black thread neatly pressed the four separated sections of skin together, allowing for his body to heal them as best it could. The areas around his wounds were a dark-red color, and overall they were unpleasant to stare at for too long. With the thread in, his injuries actually looked to be infected, even though he knew that wasn't the case.

A week had passed since the 'Chimera Incident', as he'd deemed to call it. He supposed another appropriate name could have been 'The Day His Life Changed For The Better, Not That He'd Ever Tell His Mom That'. While the latter was a fitting title, Perseus felt it a bit too long.

As she'd promised, his Mom was sitting across from him, preparing to tell him everything else he wanted to know. He wasn't sure why, but they'd traveled to Sonoma, which was about an hour from where they lived in Richmond. Soon after arriving in the town, they found a place to eat that would also double as a revelation ground.

His mother hadn't said much while they drove, though he'd occasionally caught her glancing his way. It was clear that she was sad with him having to leave her. In a way, he felt guilty about doing so as well. They'd been all the other had for seventeen years. Perseus supposed that he was being selfish in the long run.

Sighing, he looked around the medium-sized French restaurant. They had both already eaten and paid, only remaining so that they could speak in relative privacy. From the corner of his eye, the young man saw his mother pull a small wooden box out of her purse. She glanced around before sliding the box over to his side of the table.

Since they were seated near the back corner of the restaurant, it was unlikely that anybody would have seen them. Even so, Perseus quickly took the box in hand and brought it onto his lap. There were no decorations on the object. Only a small, golden-yellow latch on the front which he presumed opened the lid.

"What's this?" He asked, running a thumb across the latch.

"Your father told me to give it you once the time was right. He said I'd know when that was, and that he trusted me to make sure you got it," Sally replied, shaking her head. "I've never looked inside of it, though. He said it was yours, a gift, so I decided to let you be the one to open it."

Perseus gave her a look. "You aren't curious?"

"Oh, I am. That's why I'm hoping that you open it in front of me, so that I can finally put my mind at ease after seventeen years of wondering," she chuckled.

Slowly moving the box back onto the table, he bit his lip. His mind raced at the possibilities of what his father left him. His fingers glided over the clean, polished wood, suddenly feeling a weight settle in his stomach. He wasn't even sure what he wanted after so long of not having a father. Idly, he wondered if the gift would be able to give him a sense of content, though he had strong doubts.

Eventually, he slid the latch out of place. Pulling the lid up, Perseus stared at the contents of his gift.

Inside, there were only two items. One was a folded piece of paper which sat neatly at the center of the box. The other was a silver toothpick. Blinking at the rather bland objects, Perseus took both of them and narrowed his eyes. Sighing, he placed the toothpick in his mouth and rolled it around for a few moments. He carefully unfolded the paper and was miffed to see less than ten words written down.

 _Perseus,_

 _ **I'm sorry.**_

 _Sincerely,_

 _Your Father._

Closing his eyes, the young man took a deep breath and set the paper down, sliding it away from himself. He was surprised that his father had apologized, if he were being honest. In his mind, he'd been expecting some kind of attempted justification. He'd expected to see a long paragraph in which his father tried to give reason to his actions. Instead, there was an apology.

Perseus recognized that his father was admitting his guilt, and that nothing he said could truly absolve him of guilt.

In a way, the teen could respect the courage his father had shown.

It was clear that the man was prepared to bear his son's anger and resentment for the rest of his immortal life, perhaps even accepting that one day Perseus might try to kill him. Yes, his father surely had some form of courage… or arrogance.

Suddenly, he felt a hand touching his own. Perseus' eyes opened, and he noticed the grim smile that his mother wore.

"Unlike you, he was never one to beat around the bush with things," Sally explained, motioning to the letter. "He was a fairly straightforward kind of guy, trying to wear his heart on his sleeve. In that way, you and he differ like night and day. You try so hard to act normal… so that you aren't out of place… because it's a challenge for you. It's a way to break from the boring days that pass you by. Other people might see the funny, smiling, handsome Perseus Jackson, but I know the other side. The Mr. Hyde to your Dr. Jekyll. The cold, aloof nature that you rarely ever let out. Those are two extremes that you drift toward, though, and I know― _I know_ ―that somewhere inside of you is a boy just trying to find some genuine to grab onto."

Perseus looked down at the box in front of him. "For some reason, it hurts hearing you say that. You make me out to be some kind of…"

"No, I will _never_ see you as anything less than my son," his mother stated vehemently. The grip that she had on his hand suddenly tightened a bit more. "You are and always will be the baby boy that I brought into this world, the one that I carried for nine months, the one that I love more than anything else in this world. I just want to see you safe and happy in the future. This is your way to pave the road, Perseus. The camp is for people like you, so it's my hope that you won't have a reason to use your false persona."

A lump started to form in Perseus' throat as his mother spoke. He could feel a sting in the corners of his eyes, and he refused to meet her gaze, knowing that if he did there would be tears.

It would always be Sally who made him cry. Nobody else could rip at his heart more effectively than the woman he loved unconditionally. Clearing his throat and blinking a few times, the half-blood regained his composure.

"So… this camp, where is it exactly?"

"Your father said that he didn't know its exact location. All he knows is that it's near the Oakland hills," Sally said. "The reason we came here, to Sonoma, is because before you can get into camp, you'll have to go to another location first. The Wolf House."

"The one that Jack London built? How does that work out, isn't that place just a burned ruin?" Perseus asked, scratching his chin thoughtfully.

Sally took a sip of water still left over from their meal. "It's supposedly hidden well from mortals by the Mist. I can't say how it works, that's just how it was explained to me. What you should know, is to be prepared to meet your first goddess there."

Lifting an eyebrow, a spark of excitement passed through Perseus' body. While the Chimera had been a short but sweet fight, he certainly hadn't been all that satisfied. A goddess, on the other hand, would no doubt prove to stand stronger. Perhaps he could finally scratch the itch that took residence in his mind, begging him to fight.

"How do you know all this? Or rather, how did my father know about this? He's a Titan, right?"

With a frown, Sally shrugged. "I assume that he just did his research so you could be slightly ready. Either way, he told me that this would be the best place to leave you, and that it was your job to get to the Wolf House. This… this'll be where we part ways for now. Promise you won't do anything crazy."

"I swear it. On whatever deity might be listening."

They sat in silence for a minute. Perseus processed what was happening, having already come to terms with the knowledge that he was leaving for an indefinite amount of time. While it was somewhat difficult, the drive inside of his brain kept him looking at the horizon. It wouldn't be long until he was properly introduced into a world that could finally give him what he wanted.

Sally stood up motioning for Perseus to do the same. With a nod, he followed suit and exited the restaurant, trailing behind his mother a few steps. Stopping in front of her car, the two shared a tight hug.

Perseus felt a kiss being placed on his cheek, prior to his mother whispering what he'd yearned to hear for over a decade.

"Iapetus. Your father's name is Iapetus the Piercer… Titan of the West. The one true Titan of Mortality."

* * *

 **A/N: Man, you'd think that with the main plot outlined I wouldn't get writer's block with Burden of the Curse. Well, I did, and this story idea was nagging me. I decided to write this in my off time, and this chapter alone took me a few weeks to write out. Oh, and yes, Burden is still ongoing, with another chapter in the works as I type this.**

 **So, this is obviously an AU story, where Perseus isn't the son of Poseidon. That means that he's gonna be OOC, though I'm gonna retain some of his original personality. I won't keep calling him Perseus, he'll get his nickname a bit later into the story. A few things are gonna change, as you've probably realized by now. Great Prophecy isn't about Percy. That doesn't mean that he won't play big roles in the war to come. Percy is also two years older than in canon, though he was still born on August 18th. I chose to do this age, because it feels like a good mix of nearing maturity, while retaining some of the emotional problems that adolescence can bring.**

 **I gave a reference in the story, what with the Acura being six years old and a 2003 model, but it is February of 2009. That means the Greek Battle of Manhatten and the Roman storming of Mt. Othrys are only six months away.**

 **More will be revealed as the story progresses about Perseus' general demeanor.**

 **Pairing for romance is undecided. It'll be a single pairing though, in case you were wondering.**


	2. The Woods

**A/N: I didn't mention this in the last author's note, but since this is rated M, expect violence, vulgarity, and sexual themes. Also, there will be far fewer OC's with a more canon main plot. Subplots, however, are gonna be used to make it so that the story isn't always following the books. The only character I intend to change to a noticeable degree is Percy, so if you're uncomfortable with that, this might not be your cup of tea.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own or make any money off of this work of fanfiction. All rights for the characters in Percy Jackson and the Olympians and Heroes of Olympus go to Rick Riordan and all who were involved in the creation of the novels.**

* * *

2\. In The Woods, Only He Can Hear You Scream

* * *

As the sun shone through the trees, Perseus twirled his silver toothpick with deft fingers. Occasionally, a shaft of light would connect with the metal object, sending out brief glints that caught his eye. A soft, cooling breeze whispered through the foliage, rustling bushes as it passed. The half-blood allowed himself a small respite after having walked for hours on end.

Shortly after his mother revealed that Iapetus was his father, Perseus had started the trek toward Jack London State Historic Park. As far as Sally knew, that was where the Wolf House could be found, although she had told him to follow his instinct. It was odd advice, considering that he didn't really know what instinct even was. In the end, Perseus was fairly certain that his 'instinct' had gotten him lost.

His mother hadn't sent him out into the wilderness with nothing, though. She'd told him to bring his backpack so that she could fill it with a variety of different essentials like water, a compass, some medical supplies, and of course her world-famous―at least they _should_ have been famous―blue cookies.

Even with the compass, he had no idea where he was. About a mile back on his journey he'd felt a small niggling sensation wash over his skin, setting him on edge. The niggling had subsided quickly, though it was replaced by pinpricks shooting through his heart.

While Perseus wasn't sure what to make of the feelings, he figured more caution wouldn't hurt him in any way. Something was definitely off about his location, and he'd be damned if he were to be caught unprepared for a fight.

After all, he sought the thrill of battle, not the cold embrace of death. It would be embarrassing to die without putting a few scars on his opponent should the odds be against him. Even so, death, while not exactly a welcomed friend, wasn't something he worried about in depth. As long as he had some fun before dying, then it was fine for him. That said, he didn't actively seek to die.

Perseus frowned. Him being the son of a Titan still made his curious. Never had he heard of another Titan ever siring a half human child. Questions ran rampant in his mind, waiting to spill out if he ever met his father.

On one hand, it made sense as to why he and his mother lived on the West Coast as opposed to the East. Apparently, the Greek pantheon had the entrance to Mount Olympus in New York City. It would have been dangerous for him to live anywhere even _remotely_ close to that area.

The West Coast, on the other hand, was home to Mount Othrys. Why Iapetus insisted he and his mother live so close to Titan territory was another question that needed answering. After all, his father left to protect Perseus from his relatives; therefore it was odd that he would say California was the safest place.

' _Too bad I'm not a son of Krios. Maybe I could've used the constellations to guide me or something.'_

Though he'd gotten lost―which he continued to blame his 'instinct' for―he didn't really mind allowing his thoughts to wander. The natural beauty that surrounded him only helped facilitate his musings. He could see why so many people went on hikes if they also were given free roam of their thoughts. He wasn't relaxed, _per se_ , but it was still a nice way to clear the clutter that typically constipated his brain.

Most days saw him focusing on the organization of his facial expressions and vocal tones in order to entertain himself. In addition, he would do his best to analyze his peers' attitudes and state of being from both verbal and nonverbal cues alike. It was a fun little way to pass the time, while also entertaining when he saw how many people actually _liked_ his two-dimensional farce.

His mother had said that it was a self-administered challenge. In that respect, she was completely correct. The kind, approachable, charming personality was something akin to a Frankenstein project for him. Years of observation―be it of movies, television, magazines, or other people―helped him understand the nuances that could make or break a good facsimile. From that, he tried to stitch together a fractured identity from the bits and pieces he wanted.

Taking that into consideration, the teen wouldn't say that he was being _very_ dishonest with anybody. The emotions that he displayed weren't fake, simply exaggerated. After all, not everybody could be cheerful, bubbly, and seemingly happy all day, every day. It just wasn't normal. The identity wasn't created with some foreign sentiment to him. It was just a hyperbole of his typically joyful emotions. Yes, the emotions weren't fake, just the amount that he displayed.

The reason he built his overbearingly amiable persona wasn't because he was a body snatcher or some other form of alien monster needing to blend into human society. To him, it was much more innocent than lizard-people infiltration.

For the most part he considered it a hobby. Something he could do when nothing else was worth giving attention. It helped bring a bit of amusement, which he always found lacking in the normal world.

Sure it was strange, but it was _his_.

That being said Perseus recognized he was… prone to losing himself inside the constructed visage. He could freely admit that there was truth in his mother's words. Both his 'Dr. Jekyll' and 'Mr. Hyde' attitudes were generally the absolute extremes of his emotional range. Like every other human, he was able to go between happiness and sadness, depending on the circumstance.

His 'Mr. Hyde' was just another fun projection for him. It was a fallback, a compartmentalization where he could put the other emotions that were rarely used in his day-to-day life. He wasn't angsty enough to say that his 'true' self was an aloof, brooding, calculating, cruel human being. That wasn't to imply that he couldn't enjoy bringing about such behavior, though.

Like Sally said, it was another extreme that he swung toward.

When his grossly happy side became stale, he typically changed to something a little more reserved. Some would even go as far to call it callous.

He truly enjoyed the reactions that _particular_ exaggerated identity garnered from his oldest acquaintances―those that still remembered him from elementary school. Leticia, especially, was a fun one to intimidate whenever they were paired up for something in class.

Still though, he didn't really like giving his emotional caricatures any form of name, since then it just sounded like he suffered from dissociative identity disorder.

Scoffing, Perseus flicked the toothpick through the air, watching as it drifted back down toward his open palm. There was a certain amount of irony that he could laugh at. He was, after all, one of the most disingenuous people that came to mind. It was funny then, that he would be searching for authenticity.

A hypocritical conundrum.

Suddenly, the pricking sensation came back, scuttling around his chest cavity. Perseus scowled and tugged at his shirt a bit only for the feeling to race down his arm.

With a cocked eyebrow, he raised his hand and peered closely at the small toothpick between his fingers.

A glow, so scarce that it was almost indiscernible, bathed the tiny object in a frigid aura. Perseus stared at it curiously, noting that it seemed to thrum with palpable excitement under his scrutiny. Looking closer, the teen felt the pricking return to him in full force, this time sending slivers of discomfort through his entire body, lancing into each muscle.

Humming in thought, Perseus stopped his stride, opting instead to mull over what the toothpick was doing. Before he could do anything else, a voice rang out, putting the half-blood on alert.

"Oh thank goodness! Another person! Hello, can you help us?"

Perseus looked away from the silver object, sliding it back into his mouth.

Approaching his position was a woman dressed for a hike; olive green shorts and an earthy brown T-shirt adorning her svelte body. She had long, rich brown hair and a dazzling smile that could blind somebody with its radiance. A single dimple formed on the left side of her face as her grin stretched out.

"Uh…" Perseus blinked for a moment, taking in the―admittedly beautiful―sight before him. As the woman approached, he shook from his stupor and chided himself for staring.

The teen took a second to decide upon his expression.

Soon, he smeared on a hastily created smile that sat closer to polite than joyous. It would be poor form if he seemed too enthusiastic about meeting somebody for the first time; however, he was certain it would've been equally bad coming across as standoffish.

Clearing his throat, he decided to respond before his smile became awkward. "You said you needed help?"

The woman nodded her head, some of her voluminous hair falling around her forehead, framing her face immaculately. When she was only ten feet from him, the stranger stuttered in her step. Perseus' smile strained minutely at seeing the woman's nostrils twitch.

"Yes! Me and some of my friends were hiking out here, but we got all turned around," the woman said, face flushed and abashed at her words. "So… we're a little lost right now. Would you mind guiding us back to the main road? I'm sure we'll be able to figure out our direction from there."

Briefly, Perseus considered admitting that he was also lost. Instead, he took one look at her face― _her captivatingly warm eyes_ ―and accepted her request. "Sure, I can help you guys out."

"Really? Oh, that's great! Thank you so much!" She gushed, rushing forward and taking his arm without hesitation. "My friends aren't too far from here. We decided to send one person out to find another hiker while the others waited, just so we wouldn't go further into the woods. As you can guess, I got the short straw, so I was the one sent out."

Nodding absentmindedly, the teen fell in step with his new companion. "Apart from getting lost, have you liked hiking in this area, Miss…?"

The woman seemed surprised by his conversational attitude, though she answered him nonetheless. "Samantha. And yes, we did enjoy our time here. Well, I did at least."

Perseus hummed to himself. With the young woman attached to his arm, he marched forward, feeling only slightly out of sorts. He began hoping that his life wouldn't become a romantic-comedy... because he truly had no time for it. Unless, of course, it managed to bring him entertainment. Then he wouldn't mind too much.

 **[[AaMT]]**

"Hmmm... favorite color?" Samantha asked.

Perseus tapped a finger to his chin. "Uh… probably gray."

"Makes sense considering how you dye your hair," the woman chuckled.

"Not you too... my gray hair is from a genetic mutation, alright?" The teen explained, slightly annoyed that yet another person had assumed he dyed his hair.

"Suuuuure… next... do you have a girlfriend?"

He examined Samantha more closely from the corner of his eye. It was an odd thing to ask, considering they'd only been walking together for twenty minutes before she began a game of 'Twenty Questions'.

She looked to be several years older than him, maybe in her early twenties. Two barely noticeable smile lines helped contour her cheeks and mouth to an endearing extent. He still thought her interest in him was weird, especially since they were basically strangers. That being said, he could easily see a lot of other men finding her demeanor to be innocent and playful, especially when they took her appearance into account.

There weren't any exotic qualities to speak of; nothing that proved loud and attention-grabbing on first glance. Yet, she held herself with such natural charm that her understated looks actually _screamed_ attractiveness. As a result, her contradictory nature gave Samantha a certain 'girl-next-door' appeal that Perseus often heard his male acquaintances talk about.

Shaking his head, the young man smiled wryly. "None so far. That's fine though, I'm not in any rush."

"Really? That's surprising," Samantha said coyly. "Someone like you… well I'm lucky to have met you out here. My wilderness hero."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were flirting with me," Perseus commented, tossing his companion an amusedly restrained smile. "But I doubt you'd do that, considering we just met and all."

Samantha coughed into her hand, a blush rising to her cheeks. "I… well I… wait… how old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"Oh… oh my gosh… I-I just f-flirted with a minor," the woman stammered, covering her face with both hands. "Let's… let's just forget… just forget what I said, okay? Don't tell my friends, please, they'll never let me hear the end of it."

The half-blood waved off her concerns. "Don't worry, I won't say a word. A few people mistake me for an older guy. Not many, mind you, but this wouldn't be the first time."

Letting go of a loud sigh, Samantha nodded timidly. "Yeah… um, thanks for that. My friends aren't too far up ahead. Let's go!"

Once again, Perseus found her arm looping around his own, locking them together quite closely.

' _For somebody worried about verbally coming on to a teenager, she certainly likes to cling…'_ Perseus mused. ' _Though nobody's gonna hear me complaining about it.'_

The girl's strides soon began to lengthen, though when they did, the teen noticed she had a distinct limp. Even though her gait was uneven, Samantha pushed forward at a speed that surprised him.

Eventually, the trees began to clear, giving sight to a placid lake. Sitting by the shore was a group of six other women, all around the same age as Samantha. Each was dressed similarly to Perseus' companion, though they sported a decent amount of individuality through their hair and facial features. Yet, in the end, they were all very attractive no matter how one looked at it.

"Hey guys! I found somebody!" Samantha called out, garnering the attention of the group. She smiled her typically blinding smile at Perseus again. "Come on! You should meet the group!"

"Sounds like a plan," the young man shrugged.

As he and Samantha walked to the other women, he casually kicked a rock forward. The brunette next to him didn't seem to notice when the rock landed in front of her. When she took the next step, her foot rolled over the oblong stone.

With a yelp, the young woman tripped. Reacting quickly, Perseus managed to catch her before she could hit the ground. He pulled her up and gave her a sheepish laugh as he pulled his hands off of her chest and spine.

"Eh, sorry about that. I kicked the rock basically right in front of your foot," he admitted, backing up and gesturing in surrender.

Samantha huffed, but grinned soon after as her eyes roamed over Perseus' body. "Mhm, are you really all that sorry? You managed to cop a good feel there, buddy boy."

"Which was completely accidental." His retort was calm, but it was followed by a crooked smile. "Though it was a happy accident at least."

"My, my, what's this Sam? Already finding love out there in the wild, are you?"

Perseus turned to look at who'd spoken.

She stood a bit ahead of the rest of the women in the small group, pitch-black hair in pixie cut form and vivid amber eyes setting her apart from the others. Looking to be marginally older than the rest, Perseus assumed she was the leader of their collective.

"Hi there. Thanks for coming to help us out," the leader said. Her tone was amiable enough, though there was an obvious French accent to the voice. "I'm Valencia, it's nice to meet you."

Inclining his head, the half-blood reciprocated her niceties. "Likewise. I'm Perseus, in case you care."

Samantha lightly tugged at his shirt. "Oh c'mon, you never told _me_ your name!"

"You never asked."

The brunette pouted at his bland response. "Neither did she! Well, whatever. Let me introduce everybody else!"

Samantha went on to point out who was called what. Perseus truly didn't care about any of the women's names, only barely registering what his lively companion was saying. Out of typical social convention, he nodded along with the words that flew from Samantha's mouth, even as he observed the surrounding area.

The sky was clearly visible now that there weren't trees in every direction. There were a few clouds drifting, though for the most part the blue expanse was clear and vividly intoxicating. Around him was the lakeshore, which consisted of small, smooth rocks. Trees dotted the distance and he could see the treeline as it stretched around his position.

Perseus broke from his inspections soon. Samantha had finished naming her friends, which brought Perseus to extend a hand as he smiled timorously at each of the gorgeous women. "Nice to meet all of you."

Only one―a girl named Ameenah―chose to shake the offered limb. Nobody else stepped forward to do so, instead meeting the gesture with curious and semi-suspicious glances. A few eyes were narrowed his direction, though the most dangerous expression was plastered on Valencia's face.

It was apparent that no more would return the pleasantry. He supposed it was both a blessing and a detriment.

Perseus took a step forward. His eyes never left Valencia even when his diffident countenance shifted. Taking a moment to think, he placed his middle finger and thumb together, before nodding resolutely.

' _Pesky consequences begone.'_

He snapped.

Blood exploded from Samantha's torso, splattering the side of Perseus' red shirt, staining it black.

At the same time, his ability lacerated Ameenah's hand, ripping the appendage in two parts through the middle and spilling more black blood across his jeans.

Samantha fell back. Or rather, the top part of her body―from her chest up―fell backward. The bottom half simply crumpled to the ground, legs giving out as there were no signals supporting it. The brunette's face was frozen in an expression bordering between shock and agony, her face twitched for a few seconds, eyes scanning around and jaw moving up and down.

Ameenah, on the other hand, screamed and dropped to her knees, trying to hold the two segments of her arm together. Perseus could see the tears falling from her chin as she cradled the ruined limb, sobs racking her body violently as the screams choked between her gasps for air.

Deciding not to let her get back up, the half-blood leaned close and flicked the girl's forehead. Ameenah's gaze snapped up at his touch, her eyes wide, terrified, and pleading.

"No! No! Please… _please!_ "

Before she could speak further, Perseus _rent_. Her head was torn in two, split much like her arm was. Chunks of bone and tissue fell to the ground, falling between the rocks.

The other women stared in shock even while their friends dissolved into gold dust.

"So you _are_ monsters. Good thing, huh?" Perseus chuckled, shaking his head. "I wasn't―as embarrassing as it is to admit―one-hundred percent sure. It would've been pretty awkward if I'd accidentally killed two random mortal women. All of that set-up… would've been for no reason at that point."

While it certainly might have been unfortunate, he wouldn't say that it would have changed anything. Even if Samantha and Ameenah _were_ human―which he now knew they weren't―the other women would still have died, by his own hand no less.

He couldn't very well let them leave after they witnessed their two friends being murdered. The cruelty of letting them live with such horrific memories wouldn't be lost on Perseus. While guilt wasn't something he experienced often, it typically rubbed him the wrong way. Such was the reason why the others would die.

Mercy killing.

Perseus figured death was preferable to living a life haunted by the images of close friends and family being violently mutilated and murdered. Especially when one was close enough to smell the metallic tang of blood in the air. There was a very distinct difference between the ignorant, pitiful cruelty of youthful taunts and the inhuman, heartless cruelty of premeditated murder.

After all, he wasn't a sadistic monster.

Even _he_ had the occasional nightmare of that first human he killed. It was a picture that might never leave him, although the guilt had diminished over the past two years.

Truthfully, he enjoyed such a form of absolution. Without the fetters that might bind him, restrict him, force servility unto him for the sake of others, Perseus understood that he was… a bit odd. Even so, he usually slept well at night and saw no reason to worry.

Valencia was―unsurprisingly―the first to shake herself from the shock. She bared her teeth, which elongated and sharpened into fangs. Her once fair skin gained a pallor quality, becoming a shade that resembled baby powder or chalk. Long, fiery wisps replaced her short dark hair and red soon bled into her irides. Both legs also shifted, one growing brown fur and looking like a donkey; the other retained its humanoid shape, though it was made entirely of bronze.

Having seen their leader transform, the rest of the women morphed too, becoming terrible hybrids that shared similar features with Valencia.

Perseus raised an eyebrow at seeing the monsters in front of him. "Vampires? Don't remember them from Greek myth… huh… spooky… I guess? What's with the legs, though? Don't tell me your parents… _did it_ … with a donkey."

One of the vampires―who'd been introduced as Yoana―stepped forward. "We are servants of Hecate, demigod bastard! Vampires? Don't make us laugh! We haunted the night far before those _fakers_ ever did, draining the blood of weak-willed young men for ages! We are _empousai_ , the perfect combination of flesh, metal, and ghostly remains."

"Oh! Spooky indeed! You've got me quivering, _little Ms. Perfect Combination_ ," Perseus drawled. He quite enjoyed the reactions elicited from taunts, which was perhaps the only reason he ever jeered at anybody.

Yoana growled, limping toward Perseus, but she stopped when Valencia raised a hand. "Not another step! I will deal with this half-blood slime… _myself_!"

Perseus smirked and let the backpack fall from his shoulders. Yes, he could definitely appreciate the art of taunting. "Your move."

The lead empousa drew a gold, double-sided knife from behind, flicking her flaming hair haughtily. "You fool! I've lived for centuries, never once bested by one of your kind. If I recall my count correctly, over fifteen half-bloods have tried to kill me… and all of them met their grisly ends at my teeth. Depending on the godly parent, their blood was always a treat, a delicacy that nears euphoric bliss. I wonder how you'll taste."

With that, she lunged forward, her speed catching Perseus by surprise. Given that her legs were mismatched, the teen expected her to move slower. Instead, she closed the distance much too quickly, leading Perseus to reflexively back away.

The dagger whistled through open air, having missed his neck by several inches. Seeing his chance, Perseus jabbed experimentally with his fist, testing his foe's reactionary speed.

Valencia took no chances, undoubtedly worried about what he could do with his hands, and completely avoided the attack. She gave his fist a wide berth, letting it pass her by.

Perseus could see the caution in her ruby eyes. Much like the Chimera, once she'd gotten a taste of what he could do, there was no rush to experience it again. It was painfully clear that Valencia would do her best to keep away from his hands.

In that moment, the half-blood lamented that his powers were confined to such a small part of his body. His abilities―while fearsome―were also extremely limited by circumstance. He could only _rend_ under certain conditions: the object needed to be susceptible to wounds; any part of his hands had to touch the object; the object couldn't have been touched more than five minutes past; and he needed enough stamina to perform the _rending_ on said object.

That said, Perseus honestly wouldn't have wanted any other ability. It was part of who he was, helped define him, brought him a sense of content. Using his power was exhilarating each and every time. The injection of dominance into his bloodstream, flowing through his body, inundating him with a wholly unique and intimate pleasure.

He loved every second of it, even when it left him exhausted and panting, feeling worn and completely spent. The gratification that accompanied his _rending_ reached just short of nirvana, staying close to― _yet so very far from_ ―orgasmic rapture.

Not allowing ruminations to impede his fight, Perseus refocused on the lead empousa. She was watching his moves closely if the way her eyes flickered from limb to limb was any indication. Shifting his foot forward, the teen saw his foe tense up.

His muscles coiled and bounced with barely restrained glee, ready to push and pulse at their master's command. The excitement of another fight filled Perseus. He felt his breathing speed up, knowing full well he could potentially meet the reaper. Even so, he would fight to his last breath no matter what, needing to feel _everything_.

When he saw Valencia begin to move, he released the tension by sprinting full force at the monster. Valencia's face expressed her fear when his fist nearly caught her chest. She rolled to the side, just barely avoiding having her life taken.

Perseus kept his momentum, though, spinning on his heel and executing a poorly-advised spin kick. His foot caught the empousa in her arm, which caused the beast to stumble. Before he could act again, a thin gash was opened through his jeans, cutting into his calf, courtesy of Valencia's dagger.

A mutual exchange of blows.

The half-blood leaped vicariously at his opponent, launching a series of punches and an occasional kick in hopes of dealing some better damage. It proved an arduous task quickly however, since the monster held the weapon advantage. The extra inches that were added to her reach became an insurmountable obstacle.

Each time he overextended, Perseus was rewarded with another slash to his extremities. He counted four cuts on his body in total. None of the wounds were especially debilitating, but he realized that if the dagger had been coated in poison, his life would be forfeit.

' _Guess there's a reason to go to that camp after all,'_ Perseus thought, pulling his hand away from another deliberate slash that nearly took a few fingers off.

The difference in fighting skill was not extreme, but the teen was aware that Valencia had a few hundred years of experience on him. She'd claimed to have killed over a dozen other demigods. Such a feat must have meant that she was adequate in terms of combat.

Unfortunately for the empousa, all Perseus needed was one touch.

Another shallow injury was opened on his bicep, though he disregarded it. He moved close and rammed his knee into Valencia's donkey thigh. He went to grab her throat, only to dodge the dagger that nearly found purchase in his eye. The two separated from their close proximity for a moment.

Glancing around quickly, he realized that he'd moved closer to the group of empousai who watched the fight closely. Each of them had taken out a dagger of their own, apparently prepared to fight him if their leader fell.

Sweat trickled down his forehead, moving down the bridge of his nose and crossing close to his eyes. The sun's beams felt like fire on his skin. He couldn't feel the air around him. His heart pounded heavily and his ribs ached.

It was a _heavenly_ feeling.

An idea formed amidst the heated frenzy of his boiling blood. The fight, while a bit more difficult than expected, was very entertaining. That being said, he wanted better fights in the future. Perseus ducked and moved as Valencia took advantage of his sudden lack of aggression. She was careful not to present any solid openings, which left Perseus both a bit frustrated and amused.

Soon, their fight led them within ten feet of the other empousai. Perseus bent backward, avoiding a slash that was meant to blind him. When his upper-body was parallel with the ground, he flexed his arms behind his head, planting them on the rocky lakeshore.

With a great heave, the teen pushed his feet off the ground while pulling his lower-body into the air with his core strength. Continuing the motion, Perseus allowed his entire lower-body to swing in its arc before he threw himself off the ground with his hands. He landed on his feet haphazardly, stumbling a bit as the rocks shifted beneath his weight.

Shooting a smirk and a wink at Valencia's slightly astounded look, he casually dusted off his shoulder.

"Damn I'm good."

Turning on his heel, Perseus dashed and grabbed the nearest empousa he could find―who happened to be Yoana―by the wrist. Squeezing as hard as he could, the small carpal bones were crushed under the pressure.

Hearing the sound of moving rocks coming from his rear, Perseus spun around the wounded empousa, placing his body behind her own. He gripped the back of her shirt and watched as one of her friends drove a dagger through Yoana's heart.

Without further hesitation he pushed the dying monster forward, forcing the one who stabbed her to fall under the dead weight.

More noise to his side had the teen ducking to avoid having his throat slit. Perseus twisted and kicked his attacker back, only to be forced away by yet another empousa stabbing at him. Scanning the area, he noticed that he was surrounded on all visible sides.

They rushed at him together, attacking with semi-synchronized motions. Their advantage of numbers made it difficult for Perseus to take initiative against any one mistake. Valencia, in particular, caused him an unreasonable amount of trouble. The four remaining empousai pushed him onto the back-foot, swinging and thrusting their daggers with clear anger in their movements.

He took note of the fact that their emotions were displayed in each strike. It was a little surprising to know that monsters could actually form attachments, even if it _was_ to other monsters of similar species.

Wincing as another cut was placed on his shoulder, the half-blood suddenly felt the desire to have a weapon in his own hands. It would make the fight against his enemies easier. While the battle had become exponentially more fun with the other monsters joining, he still felt something missing. There was something that still felt lethargic and unfulfilling about the entire debacle.

' _A weapon… polearm… would be awesome right about now,'_ Perseus lamented as he rolled between three simultaneous attacks. Three glints of gold caught his eye while he dodged.

An abrupt sensation of danger washed over him, coming directly from his mouth. He quickly spat the toothpick out of his mouth and into his open palm.

The object glowed brightly and soon began to elongate. Soon, a seven-foot long spear― _no, it was a_ _Bohemian Earspoon, not just a spear_ ―lay in his hand. A polished, deep maroon colored wood formed the haft. The head could almost be likened to a trident.

A long, tapering, double-edged blade one-and-a-half feet in length at the middle, and two sturdy lugs branching laterally from the neck of the middle blade gave the weapon a malefic air. The lugs were more akin to spikes that were crooked near their sharpened tips in the slightest of manners, bending back toward the haft almost indiscernibly.

"Oh… oh, this is nice… _O_ _h, baby_!" Perseus stared at what was in his hand, feeling just a little more complete. Tearing his eyes away from the earspoon―a ridiculous name, for sure―he glanced at the empousai, who stood and gaped at the weapon.

Not sparing another breath, the half-blood ran into motion again, this time with an advantage of his own. Even though the polearm was fairly long, his body moved with purpose, never allowing cumbersome actions to arise through his newly pressed attacks.

Perseus spun and twirled the earspoon while his enemies tried to defend. With his weapon in hand, the son of Iapetus broke through their attempts. The weight of the polearm lent it favor when connecting with something soft and pliable, having already been accelerated by Perseus' ferociously powerful swings.

One empousa raised her dagger when she realized her body wouldn't clear the blade in time. There was not a single hint of resistance as the long middle blade sliced through her gold knife. With no time to react further, the empousa was cleanly bisected. Its momentum carried the silver blade through her left arm, into her torso, and out the other side.

Even as one opponent fell, Perseus continued his onslaught. Blocking a wild slash, he disengaged with Valencia and rammed the butt of his polearm into the leader's nose. She cried out in pain as black blood spilled down her face. Once again he jabbed at her midsection, knocking her back before he spun the earspoon around and impaled Valencia. He yanked his weapon out of her heart and watched as she fell, her body already dissolving into gold dust.

The final two empousai looked at one another.

They charged at the same time, reckless compared to the previous attempts. Perseus wondered if it was their fear of returning to Tartarus or if it was something else. He supposed it didn't matter, since their weak attacks never connected. He waned and waxed in his technique, never once forgetting to retract or extend at the right moments. Never before had Perseus felt more relaxed than when the earspoon was in his hands.

Sliding around one, he managed to tap the back of her head with his index finger through her flaming hair. At the same time, he thrust his weapon forward and cut the other's chest with ease. He snapped and the final empousa went down, a hole pierced through her skull.

Perseus took time to breathe. He looked at the seven piles of gold dust that littered the lakeshore. As a breeze rolled across the area, Perseus began to feel his tiredness catch up. His wounds burned fiercely and dried blood―more monster than human―flecked his body.

 _'That was awesome.'_ He thought, rolling his shoulders a bit.

Walking to his backpack, the young man glanced at his new weapon with a raised eyebrow.

"Hm… what to do with you," he mused. "I can't just go around carrying you with me all the time. Change back… please?"

The Bohemian earspoon shimmered as it changed form, shrinking down into a toothpick once more.

"… Convenient." Perseus praised with a half-smile tugging at his lips. He placed it back into his mouth, only slightly off-put by knowing he'd used it to murder monsters only a minute prior.

He knelt down next to his bag and began to rummage through it. Pulling out some clean water, gauze, and bandages, the half-blood began to clean and dress his injuries. None of them were particularly ugly, simply being shallow cuts where he'd failed to defend himself. Some weren't even worth covering up, so instead, he rubbed a bit of water over them for cleanliness purposes.

After finishing with his dressings, Perseus stuffed the supplies back in his bag and pulled out some of his Mom's homemade blue cookies. He gently nibbled on the snack, his eyes never once sitting still, always on the hunt for another source of possible danger in the landscape. It was dangerous to eat with a toothpick in one's mouth, but Perseus didn't feel like he was at any risk.

His fight against the empousai had been _invigorating_. He shivered as the recollection of his skill with his earspoon―he would definitely need to find a better name for it―ran through his brain. Without even the barest hint of weapon training, he'd been able to wield the polearm with the complete and utter confidence. In that moment, the feeling of invincibility had racked his body in its cocoon of whispered promises, never allowing harm to befall him.

With the fight ended, though, the half-blood finally felt the weariness that crept into his bones.

He was tired.

Very tired.

Using his power didn't come cheap, after all. The total came to five uses during his fight: two on Samantha, two on Ameenah, and one on the unnamed empousa. It didn't help that he'd powered each of those _rendings_ a great deal since his ability was less effective against monsters compared to other things.

From behind, a low and throaty growl cut through the otherwise peaceful afternoon air. Perseus, though worn, sprang to his feet and turned around, half of a cookie still hanging between his teeth. In his hand, the toothpick was ready to be transformed back into a weapon.

A group of five wolves left the cool shadows of the treeline, padding their way cautiously toward him. The creatures were all brown of fur, which led Perseus to think that he'd accidentally stumbled close to a den. He sighed out loud at the thought of having to fight the wolves.

He was certain that it wouldn't be very entertaining. His last opponents at least had some form of higher intelligence. Fighting instinct driven animals wouldn't give him much thrill; of that, he had no doubt.

Regardless of his feelings on the matter, the teen willed for his weapon, and it answered his call. Feeling the weight settle into his hand, Perseus finished eating his cookie before staring at the wolf group.

The young man's slight trickle of anticipation became confusion when the wolves disregarded him. They stalked right by his form, not even sparing a second glance. He turned to face them with a bit of irritation at being ignored.

"Uh… _excuse me_! Dangerous badass with a Bohemian earspoon here. Could you stop pretending that I'm not a threat to you?" He called out, watching as the beasts began to sniff at the golden piles of monster dust. They walked languidly, uncaring of the teen who was shaking a fist at them.

"Hey! Don't just ig―you know what, forget it," Perseus shook his head. He continued to observe the wolves as they went around to each location where the empousai had died.

Before long, the largest wolf in the pack turned away and stared at Perseus. Its eyes―a cringe-worthy golden topaz color―bore into the teen. With a growl, the biggest wolf moved away, heading for the woods once more. Seeing such, the other wolves trotted past Perseus to catch up with the supposed leader.

With confusion wrapping around his brain, the half-blood saw them disappear into the thicket, all bar the largest. Instead, it stopped mid-stride to look back. Perseus frowned when it made no further movements.

"Do you… want me to follow you?" He asked uncertainly, feeling silly for talking to a wolf in any serious manner.

The wolf gave the slightest inclination of its head.

Perseus blinked. "O-kaaayy. Can you take me to the Wolf House?"

In return, he received the same gesture of agreement.

The half-blood didn't move for a few seconds. The surreal situation gave him pause, though he shook it from his mind. Considering he'd killed seven vampiric donkey-cyborgs not ten minutes past, having a wolf understand him wasn't quite so shocking. The earspoon reverted into a toothpick and Perseus leaned down, scooping his backpack up.

"Lead on then."

 **[[AaMT]]**

The sun was all but drowned out in the midst of the woods. The final brilliant rays of deep crimson and orange flamed through any gaps they could find, painting the ground sporadically in its hues. The wind had calmed significantly, only small wafting currents occasionally passing into the verdure. Very few trees were covered with any leaves, leaving countless bare branches to heft the weight of impeding the sun rays.

Lupa sat on her haunches, staring at the sight around her, savoring the unimpeded wrath of nature as it grew around her Wolf House. The goddess often wondered what it would be like to have opposable thumbs, if only to write down what she observed in her surroundings. As a divine being, she could, of course, change her form to suit her needs; however, she came into creation as a wolf and because of that, she preferred her natural biology as opposed to something else. It was well known that gods usually kept to their original forms, mostly for comfort's sake.

Of course, she knew thumbs were useful for more than holding a pencil. Being able to turn handles on doors, for example, truly set humans apart from other, baser, creatures. Lupa had been alive when Prometheus molded _novus aetas hominibus_ ―New Age Men―from clay, breathing into them the cancer of sentience. She still recalled how they stumbled and fell, trying to find their way in the world, more blind to it than anything she'd ever seen before. Even the less intelligent animals that roamed Gaea's crust found their purpose in simply being alive.

Humans, though, weren't satisfied with such a tawdry philosophy. When Prometheus gave them sentience, he placed on their frail, unprepared shoulders a burden that made Atlas' struggle with the sky seem tame.

In truth, it was cruel of him to let them question things. Their ability to ponder the deeper aspects of their lives led them to become embittered toward the world. Wherever they turned to look for answers, there was only disappointment. No other creature could give them the solution. Humans were truly and utterly alone in their suffering. They were never content with just _being_ _alive_ , instead searching for a higher purpose than to just die after their tumultuous lives ended.

The poor, hairless apes had no chance. Even for all their ingenuity, they led lives on borrowed time. And so, it came to be that humans searched for ways to become… more. As time passed, they set their sights on growing beyond the limits imposed upon them by mortality. Shortly afterward, the Titans revealed themselves to the humans in order to 'guide' the species.

Nothing came of such a bold claim. The Titans cared little for guiding humanity. Saturn's― _Kronos'_ ―main concern was with ensuring they never realized their potential. He was dangerously sharp, that Titan Lord. He could see that humans possessed something that he and other divine beings did not.

Adaptability. Flexibility. Ideological evolution.

Time passed them by and, instead of remaining in the same place, humans pushed forward faster than anything that came before them. Even the gods, for all their power, had stagnated.

Not humanity, however.

From era to era, they continued their upward growth. Even then, in what some might refer to as the 'Information Age', humans looked toward the future. All because they were so lost. It was tragic, then, that all their efforts were perhaps for naught.

' _Such is the consequence of creation. Nothing can truly remain forever… can it, Lord Chronos, Lady Ananke?'_

A scent soon disturbed Lupa from her morbid thoughts. It mingled, wafting through the area, settling into her nostrils and touched her tongue. A myriad of improbable sensations flashed through her body as she gleaned what she could from the smell.

' _Acceptance.'_

The word came unbidden to her mind when she inhaled.

' _The end of endless.'_

Such a phrase made her close her eyes in concentration. The sentence was lost on her when a final scent made itself known.

' _Rend.'_

Lupa opened her eyes, confused as to why the last word was associated with a smell. From where she sat, the goddess noticed a pack of five, moving closer to the Wolf House. She recalled that it was the same group she'd sent out a few hours prior. They were under orders to find the monsters which had moved into the state park several days ago.

Following closely behind her wolves was a young male demigod. He stood six feet tall, poisonous green eyes stabbing through the orange palette around him while he walked. His metallic-silver mixed with pitch-black mane was untamed and wild, though not very long. It seemed like he'd been running through the wind at high-speeds, even when it was clear that he hadn't.

The half-blood raised an eyebrow at seeing her form.

Lupa was not surprised or offended. When she considered that her height eclipsed his own, such a reaction was easy to anticipate.

What gave the goddess pause, though, was how irrationally ominous he seemed. His gait was steady, relaxed, unhurried and unassuming. He held himself with both hands in the pockets of his jeans as if he were uncaring for what could potentially harm him. His eyes were calm, though there was something twisting inside of them that reminded her of Bacchus. Not insanity. Perhaps a slight form of unhinged desire, though. Of course, she could be wrong.

"That's far enough, half-blood," the goddess said, allowing her 'wolf stare' to sit expectantly on the young man. His demeanor never changed, though. There were a few minute changes to his countenance, yet none of them were anything Lupa could decipher.

When he stopped moving, the goddess noticed a few scratches on his arms. His red T-shirt was ruffled, several tears in the fabric. There were multiple dark spots on both his upper and lower body. The scent came to her soon, not nearly as strong as the one he emitted naturally, though still at a level to where Lupa recognized it immediately.

Monster blood.

She began to reassess the boy instantly. It was clear that he was dangerous. Already, his eyes put her on edge. The way they never left her form, as if analyzing her for everything that she was, could only be described as eerie. The undulating deluge of caustic-green screamed at her in a foreign language, letting her feel the power that he potentially held, as well as the hazard that he surely was.

"Why have you come to the Wolf House?" Lupa asked. The answer was almost always the same, but it was part of her decision on whether a half-blood was worth her time.

The boy smiled. It was a demure thing, not unlike what Lupa had seen on young maidens hundreds of years past when the one they fancied acknowledged them. For a moment, her disappointment was nearly palpable. However, the feeling vanished quickly in the midst of her shock. He'd killed monsters. He'd seen and experienced battle, spilled blood, had his own spilled.

These truths were clear as day, spread haphazardly across his clothes and skin. She knew that. And yet…

 _He had fooled her_.

How she had allowed him to do so was beyond her. It burned at her pride as a goddess. She had been watching humans since their conception, observing them closely, learning their patterns and societal values. Her age eclipsed his like a mountain would eclipse a fox. For all her experience, though, she'd been deceived.

It was only for a moment, no longer than two seconds at most. Lupa had seen the smile and passed him off as weak and timid. She had no use― _Rome_ had no use―for the weak-willed. She would have fed him to her wolves, ensuring the lasting legacy of the Twelfth Legion.

Now, she was conflicted on how to approach him. The boy was clearly accustomed to manipulating how other people viewed him. Yet, he was also a warrior if the monster blood was anything to judge by. As her mind raced, the demigod decided to speak.

"I came because this is where I start, right?" He responded, his voice smooth and quite different from what his face expressed. "Unless my Mom lied to me. That doesn't exactly sound like her though, so I'll assume that this _is_ the right place."

The goddess tilted her head down to where their eyes were only a foot apart. "What is your name?"

"Perseus Jackson." His succinct response came unexpectedly. He had confidence, his face no longer showing signs of meekness. It was clear that he'd decided a different approach would be necessary when dealing with her. "You must be… hm… I'm not sure, actually. The only giant wolf I've ever heard of was Fenrir… but he's Norse myth, not Greek."

Shifting on her hindquarters, Lupa gave Perseus a pointed glare. "I'm neither Nordic nor Greek. _I am Roman_. You would do well to commit that to memory, Perseus. If you are here, that means you, too, are Roman."

The boy tilted his head to one side. "Really? Alright then, who am I to argue with a giant wolf."

Lupa growled. "My name is Lupa, patron goddess of Rome; which includes all of her inhabitants and ideals. I fed and nurtured Romulus and Remus―the founders of Rome―from my own teat, giving them the strength necessary to create foundations for the greatest empire to ever exist. I am _not_ just some random 'giant wolf' that you found in the woods."

"Oh…" Perseus chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "Awkward."

"Quite."

A tense silence passed between them. Lupa noted how the half-blood refused to take his eyes away from her own. She was admittedly impressed by his nerve. She found that her stare could cause discomfort in everything from demigods to deities themselves. Even Jupiter could be intimidated if she put the right amount of vitriol in her stare.

"Your godly parent; who is it?" The goddess asked curtly.

Perseus' gaze sharpened significantly. It was the most telling part of their entire conversation, Lupa realized. He remained silent, though he moved his hand up and took something out of his mouth. She managed to catch a hint of silver.

Finally, he broke eye contact, his face tinged with the slightest of melancholic weariness. His change in demeanor was so infinitesimal, that if Lupa hadn't been so keenly watching him, she might have missed the way his shoulders dropped.

"I don't know. Mom never told me…"

A tinge of sympathy formed inside Lupa's chest at the sullen tone Perseus spoke with. Many believed her to be completely unsympathetic. However, as a creature with higher intelligence, such a statement couldn't be true. Her sympathy didn't extend far, but for some reason, demigods always managed to bring it out in her. Perhaps it was the way they reminded her of Romulus and Remus, living lives filled with pain.

The subtle gestures conveyed his embitterment, giving Lupa the first good look at who Perseus Jackson truly was underneath his well-crafted exterior. It was a picture that she knew well. So many other demigods came to her Wolf House feeling the same way, and for each that would become a child of Rome, she could feel pity regarding their plight. Of course, she only pitied them for their past, when they were children, unable to fathom what they could do if they only tried. Once they came to her, it was their duty to prove themselves.

"Very well. Perhaps you will learn in time. For now, you will rest until the morrow," Lupa said, keeping her voice as apathetic as she could. It was never her place to lament with the half-bloods. She was a fighter, not a lover. Her duty was not to comfort the downtrodden, but rather to train the next generation.

Perseus frowned. "Tomorrow? What do you mean?"

"I do not allow the weak to taint the proud tradition of the Twelfth Legion. After you've rested, I will be testing you, to see if you are worth the space you occupy in Camp Jupiter."

"Then why wait? I'm ready to party like it's 1999 right now," Perseus stated, face settling into a crooked grin.

Lupa shook her head and stood up. Turning around, she began walking toward the manor that Jack London had built. It was supposed to be his retreat―the Wolf House―but those dreams had gone up in literal flames. All that remained of the once gorgeous house were red and gray stone walls along with a few blackened beams of wood. Green moss grew off of the stone, painting the ruined estate in its natural erosion.

"While I'm sure you'd like to fight now, and while your spirit is commendable, I'd be remiss if I didn't allow you to garner your energy. I can see the signs of a struggle on you, smell it mixed with your natural scent. You've killed today, so you have earned a time for recuperation," she said.

"Well, this place doesn't exactly give me good vibes. Am I gonna be resting in the charred husk of a former mansion?" The half-blood asked, jogging to keep up with Lupa's steps.

"Is there a problem?" Lupa retorted, stopping to stare at the young man.

Waving his hand, Perseus shrugged. "Nah, no problem. I love camping. This ought to be tons of fun. Just you… me… and the stars to keep us company. Oh yeah, sounds like my kind of vacation."

For her part, the goddess couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or if he genuinely felt enthusiastic. His tone and face were undecipherable, leaving Lupa with no real option over whether to accept his response or not.

In the end, she decided not to dwell on his authenticity. There would be time to see his mettle, to test if he was what the legion really needed. He was dangerous, that much was known to Lupa. Whether or not that danger could be directed at the enemy would make all the difference.

"Then you should have no problems preparing yourself for tomorrow." Pointing with her nose, the goddess gestured to the Wolf House. "Choose a spot to sleep. There are no commodities here, so I hope you aren't hoping for a bed or a blanket. Here is where true Roman warriors are born into the modern era. You will either find yourself on the path to joining the legion… or you will die trying."

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 **A/N: The cover image has nothing to do with the pairing. I've gotten a couple of PM's asking that. It's actually a moon of Jupiter called Iapetus. I chose it... well you already know why. Plus, it kinda looks like the Death Star, and I've made it my personal mission to fit references to Star Wars into the story when I deem it absolutely necessary.**

 **I'm starting university again in a couple of weeks, so the next chapter for either this or BotC might take a few weeks or so to get out.**


	3. Why Don't You Come with Me, Little Girl

**A/N: I think I'm starting to come up with a half-decent system for reviews. To Tufian and Death Fury, thanks for the kind words. Longer reviews were answered through PM.**

 **I'm a filthy liar. Took me less than two weeks. On the first day of classes, no less, when I should be doing homework. Instead, I edited this chapter and powered my way through writers block for BotC. Small miracles.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not make any money off this work of fanfiction. All rights for the characters in Percy Jackson and the Olympians and Heroes of Olympus go to Rick Riordan and all who were involved in the creation of the novels.**

* * *

3\. Why Don't You Come with Me, Little Girl, on a Magic Carpet Ride

* * *

When Perseus found himself opening his eyes to see clouds of whitish mist rolling around him, he was not confused or panicked. Rather, he was a bit frustrated that after Lupa's grueling training session the day prior, he'd have to endure one of his dreams.

Those were always a bit strange for Perseus.

For one, most of them were muddied by a thick, dark gray fog that layered the ground and air all around him. He was never allowed to wander in his dreams―or nightmares, in any case. His mind typically pigeonholed him into following what seemed to be a set order of events. There was no freedom involved.

Adding to that, Perseus only had a thirty-percent survival rate in his dreams. Most of the time, he'd be killed in one gruesome manner or another, leaving him to wake up with cold sweat forming on his body. The way he died ranged from being ripped apart in the jaws of massive black dogs, to being skewered on the end of spears, to getting dragged into Tartarus itself by a collection of rotting hands.

There were many, _many_ more ways, and none of them were pleasant. In a way, he'd become desensitized to the dreams, to the idea of his end. He found it funny then, that they'd started when his mother told him about his status as a half-blood, during what he considered to be the beginning of his greater journey. Since that time, whenever he dreamed, it was never certain what would happen.

Then there were dreams with the sleepy woman starring in them. In those, he never died, only listened as the woman's tired and pleasant voice spoke to him. She would talk of things returning to their natural state. Often, the sleepy woman would ponder Perseus' existence, saying that she wasn't quite sure what to do with him.

" _You shouldn't be here. Your very presence is skewing the game… but you can become a very useful pawn. You, my grandson, have potential. Without prophecy anchored to your fate… perhaps it would be best to kill you now before you can manifest into greatness. Unless… you would rather join me. If that is the case, then come to me, my little demi-titan, and I will grant you whatever your heart desires. We can have such an… entertaining relationship, you and I. Until then, perhaps I'll need something to haunt you. Wait for it, Perseus, for it will be my gift and my show of love... all for you._ "

Such were the words that the tired woman would mutter. Perseus had to admit that she drove a hard bargain. When the options were entertainment against death, his decision should have been rather simple. She was also his grandmother, apparently. At first, when he was still a child, her identity eluded him. Once his mother revealed that Iapetus was his father, the dots hadn't been difficult to connect.

Gaea.

He very much doubted that his grandmother from his Mom's family would be contacting him during his sleeping hours, therefore Gaea made the most sense.

It was never made clear just _what_ she sent to 'haunt' him. As of yet, nothing had fit the description.

Perseus supposed normal people would classify most of his dreams as nightmares. In a way, they might have been right. Even when he was an eleven-year-old child, he recognized that those horrible images weren't a product of his will alone.

Something else was influencing how he perceived things. It held him in a vice-like grip that never faltered. Death would come and clutch his throat in well over half of all the dreams he ever had, leading to many nights of sleeplessness at first.

It was only natural, then, that he'd developed thick skin against such ghastly sights and sensations. Even in his dreams, the pain he felt would cut through into the physical world. He would wake up, crying and curled at the way his limbs ached and burned, or the way his head pounded.

His mother would come into the room and hold him close to her chest, rocking him back and forth, cooing while she rubbed his head. Her arms would feel so different from the cold steel, or the burning fires, or the crushing weight of the ocean. Sally would do her best to calm him, telling him that as long as she lived, he'd never go through such suffering. She would kiss him, pressing her lips to the corners of his eyes, her own cheeks often stained with tears at seeing his terror.

Perseus could never forget how much his mother loved him. Not when she'd been the one to give him more than anybody else. Not when she'd been the only person who he could trust with his thoughts, every emotion he could muster, and even his life.

Seeing his mother in such a state hurt Perseus.

Those times had long passed, though, for the son of Iapetus.

There was no option for him to intentionally stop the dreams and for a full year, the sunset brought anxiety of sleep. Even so, he'd persevered.

Eventually, his resilience was rewarded. The pain from each successive death had dampened. Soon, the fear of death in his nightmares left him. There was still plenty of aching and burning and ripping; but none of that mattered when his conscience held the notion that in his dreams, nothing could _truly_ harm him.

Perhaps it was a lie he told himself, just to make it through the nights. After all, pain was pain. It was felt, it was abhorred, it was part of life. Pain was real as long as the brain wanted it to be.

Since those times, he'd been far less concerned with sleep. The dreams, while still morbid, did little to further bother him. In his current situation, being seventeen and all, he was only peeved that his rest was ruined.

He blinked the heaviness from his eyes and stretched out, ready to go on another magic carpet ride. When he looked around, though, he noticed something was different.

Usually, the fog wasn't so close to him. Nor did the haze have streaks of gold lining the cloudy substance. Frowning, Perseus' eyes darted from side to side, a feeling of slight foreboding creeping into his chest. He could only see about ten feet in any direction, cutting him from any external stimulus.

The young man took steps forward, cutting through the chilled air. White puffs left his lips and nose when he exhaled, matching with the crunching of snow beneath his feet. There was only one visible path for him to follow, seeing that everything else was obscured by the dense mist.

Suddenly, a frigid gale blew over his form. Shivering, Perseus shielded his face from the gelid winds. A thick layer of powder was kicked up, whisked away by the wind, pushing more particles into the air. Squinting through his fingers, the half-blood looked ahead.

From what Perseus could tell, somebody had already walked the path before him. Footprints could easily be distinguished where the person had traveled, leaving distinctive outlines in the snow.

' _Definitely not dressed for this weather.'_ He thought, looking down to see himself only in his tattered red T-shirt and dark blue jeans combination.

Disregarding his state of dress, Perseus trudged onward through the dreamscape.

It was only after a few moments that he realized there was resistance as he walked. He was marching upward; perhaps onto a hill or mountain. The ground beneath the snow was slick, making him cautious of losing his footing and tumbling back down from whence he came.

As Perseus climbed higher, he could feel himself grow tired. His legs were straining like there were several hundred pound weights attached to each ankle. Perseus' breathing became labored and choppy, the white wisps coming out erratically.

Even in the biting cold, sweat beaded around his forehead and fell onto the back of his neck. He wanted to stop; however, something cajoled him forward into the greater unknown, whispering to him that there was still much to sustain.

With those thoughts racing through his mind, Perseus opted to simply walk without complaint. He was curious as to what could lie within this particular dream. It was unlike anything before, keeping his interest piqued, taunting him with promises of entertainment.

It was only when he'd walked for what felt like days, that he felt something shift. The twin-toned fog pushed out further and lost a bit of its solidity. The cold winds died down.

Perseus blinked and looked at what stood before him.

Massive, black marble columns blocked most of his vision, stretching into the sky for hundreds of feet. The marble was shiny, with some sections covered in a very thin layer of frost. Perseus himself had come to a stop at a colossal archway. The teen felt like he was walking into a titanic mausoleum.

The path before him had become more visible. The mist had pushed back to uncover everything that was in front of where he walked. When he looked back, though, there was only fog. Something told him there was no returning.

Above him was also clear for the most part, and he could easily see the gargantuan spires of black marble reaching for the heavens.

Perseus stood at nothing short of an immense fortress comprised entirely of black marble.

Not wanting to stand out in the cold, Perseus moved further along, still climbing further up to the castle. The wind was no longer pushing into him like a blizzard, having been blocked by the dark walls that rose up around him.

He soon came to another archway, and while smaller than the first, there was no lesser sense of grandeur. Depictions of great battles were etched into the stone, large men grappling one another, cutting, burning, biting, and ripping each other with terrible expressions etched into their visages.

Perseus stared for some time before he turned away and kept moving.

From where he was, he could see a pair of massive doors that were inlaid upon the main walls. Battlements were placed on the ramparts, making the fortress seem like it was built in the Middle Ages. Perseus felt it odd, though, since the inscription on the doorway was in Ancient Greek. It read: _Othrys. Where Earth Met Sky._

The young man raised an eyebrow at the words. Mount Othrys was the home of the Titans, that much he knew.

It was where most of the elder Titans were born. Gaea had chosen the location to meet with Ouranos for their sexy-time because it was once the tallest mountain in the world, surpassing even Mount Everest in height.

Zeus had sheared off most of the mountain's top with his Master Bolt during the first Titanomachy. That then left Mount Olympus to stand as the tallest mountain; at least until the Titans retaliated, Hyperion and Krios using their great power to destroy the top of Olympus, cutting it down to size as well.

The latter part was not as well-known, however, his mother had told him the story when he was a child. He always wondered how she knew such information. Now, he figured that Iapetus probably told her what really happened during the war, since he lived through it. Perseus wondered just how much of history had been lost because the Olympians only told their side.

' _History is written by the victors, after all.'_ Perseus thought amusedly.

Large steps led up to the black doors, giving the half-blood some trouble as he clambered up each step. They were slick with ice, and he had to focus on each foot placement. Once he reached the top, Perseus craned his neck to gaze at the doors in all of their dreadful splendor.

Just as he pondered what to do next, the fog began to encroach upon him once more, obscuring everything from view. His vision went completely white, leaving Perseus to squeeze his eyes shut. Vertigo hit him, and he almost fell to the ground when his sense of balance went end-up.

When the spinning finally stopped, he shivered in discomfort and opened his eyes.

He immediately noticed that his dream had shifted. Perseus had been taken inside of the fortress. A long corridor made entirely out of the same black marble extended out in front of him. Large, circular braziers were placed along the walls, burning with bright green flames. Hanging from the concave ceiling by heavy-set gold chains were several more circular dishes, also filled with Greek fire.

Tall Corinthian columns stood on either side of the hallway, keeping with the dark motif.

Perseus looked around, his head on a swivel, taking in the ambiance. Glancing down the hallway, he saw that it stretched for quite some distance. Deciding he would rather not stay on Mount Othrys longer than he needed―even if it was only his dreamscape―Perseus began to move.

He walked briskly, his footfalls eliciting soft tapping noises from the polished floors.

Like in many of his other dreams, things seemed so real for him. It was almost as if he were actually _there_ , power-walking through the halls of the Titan base. The dream lent a certain gravitas to everything that he did. As per usual, his body felt the same as if he were awake; not too heavy, nor too ethereal and light. He'd been affected by the cold outside, and he was being warmed in the presence of the Greek fires inside.

Perseus soon made out a doorway at the far end of the hall. His eyes moved left and right, taking into mind the corridors that were placed between some of the braziers. Where they led, he didn't know. Truthfully, he really wasn't in the mood to explore either. He knew that he'd fallen asleep that night exhausted after training with Lupa.

A peaceful rest was all he asked for. Instead, he was transported to the one place that few mortals really wanted to visit. Truly, he was being blessed with an exciting life after the tedium of his first seventeen years.

Finally, the half-blood could see the exit of the main corridor. The doorway had no actual doors on it, only a wide open emptiness that led into the next area. Stepping through, Perseus found himself in a ridiculously large and round foyer.

The area had opened up substantially, with the ceiling moving to be nearly a hundred feet high. Twelve statues circled the room, each well over twenty-feet tall. They were close to the wall so that torches could line the sides of the black marble sculptures. Every idol was poised in some manner, and each held a symbol with them, signifying part of their personality.

On one half of the circular room were statues with a more feminine appearance. On the other, Perseus assumed the males stood. At the very end of the foyer, where both rows of sculptures ended and between the two largest figures, were a pair of thick metallic doors. He walked along the left-hand side, to where the women stood.

Every idol rested atop a pedestal, and each pedestal had writing engraved into the dark stone.

The first statue was of a woman, her features looking a bit droopy. The pedestal listed her as: _Mnemosyne, Promise of the Titans, Titanide of Memory_. Perseus continued walking, taking in each name as he went.

 _Themis, Judge of the Titans, Titanide of Law, Order, and Justice._

 _Tethys, Healer of the Titans, Titanide of Fresh Waters and Underground Springs._

 _Theia, Bond of the Titans, Titanide of Shining Brightness._

 _Phoebe, Seer of the Titans, Titanide of Prophetic Intelligence._

 _Rhea, New Queen of the Universe, Titanide of Motherhood and Compassion._

Stepping back a few paces, Perseus stared up at the sculpture of Rhea. She looked both strong and warm at the same time. Her robe was draped across her body, falling over her head. Both of her arms were crossed, like a mother waiting to hear what troubles her child had caused. Her statue was nearly ten-feet taller than the others, perhaps to signal her status. Perseus looked back to the other crescent of Titans, those that were male.

He jogged over to the beginning of the line, and read the first name on the pedestal.

 _Koios, Discoverer of the Titans, Titan of Intellect._

 _Iapetus, Weapon of the Titans, Titan of Mortality and Violent Death._

Perseus stopped.

Glancing up, he took in every detail of the statue that embodied his father. Iapetus stood with a spear in his left hand, hefted on his shoulder, looking fairly different from Perseus' own. The weapon his father held was simple in its design.

A flat, leaf-shaped spearhead sat on the top of a six-foot long haft. A butt-spike rested at the other end. That was it. Effective, nothing ornate, and easily something that Perseus could see himself using with equal efficiency as his earspoon. He had no doubt that his father could do some impressive things with the weapon.

Iapetus himself looked stern, with the chiseled frown on his face, forever giving the Titan a scowl of indifference. From what Perseus could tell, his father was dressed in a long mantle, which lay over the top of a chiton. His other hand was raised, clenched into a fist, fingers facing toward him.

All in all, it made for an intimidating stance. Running his fingers across the cold marble plinth, Perseus pondered the second title which Iapetus was given. 'Violent Death' sounded harsh, but the half-blood wasn't quite sure what it entailed. It must have been a conceptual domain.

After a few more seconds of questioning, the teen moved on to the other male Titans.

 _Krios, Navigator of the Titans, Titan of Constellations and Direction._

 _Hyperion, Fire of the Titans, Titan of Light._

 _Oceanus, Watcher of the Titans, Titan of the Seas._

 _Kronos, New King of the Universe, Titan Lord of Time and Harvest._

Voices coming from behind the closed doors caught his attention. Perseus backed away from the Kronos statue and moved to the exit. He reached out, only to find that his hand phased through the metal. With a frown, he pushed the rest of his body through the doors.

Perseus shook his head at the awkward feeling of moving through a solid object. He'd never been able to do something like that before, so it gave him pause as to what was happening.

A youthful voice brought him out of his ponderings.

"Why do you continue to refuse? We need you again, your brothers and sisters call for you to take up arms. Yet, you would instead spend the rest of your immortal days in Tartarus? You would so easily abandon us when we need you most, Iapetus?" The voice asked, clearly displeased.

Perseus whipped his head around, looking for who'd spoken, and who had been addressed. He found them, one sitting on a throne made of marble and encrusted with various precious jewels, while the other stood slightly off to the side.

The teen, although certain he was dreaming, felt an odd hold of apprehension come over him. His instincts―which had been honed well by Lupa―told him not to be seen. He crept into the shadows, moving along the wall of what he only assumed was a throne room. There were two thrones, both looking fit to be used by the highest of royalty, sitting atop an elevated flat. Steps led up to the throne area, where a young man sat, leaning forward slightly.

As Perseus moved forward, he could make out more features. The guy―because really, he looked like a normal college student―had sandy-blond hair, cropped short and styled neatly. A scar ran from the bottom of his lower eyelid to his chin, deep and gouged harshly into the skin. He was dressed typically for his age: a pair of tan shorts, navy boating shoes, a white T-shirt under a salmon colored dress shirt with the sleeves folded up. The only thing that set Perseus on edge―apart from the aura of dread―was the color of his eyes.

Shimmering gold and full of immense power.

Leaning against his throne was a scythe, glinting both gray and bronze in the flickering light. The weapon was six-feet long, and just looking at it made Perseus salivate at the thought of using it in battle. It was different from a war scythe, more akin to an agricultural scythe, which made sense when Perseus considered that the one sitting down was probably none other than Kronos, Titan Lord of Time and Harvest.

With that in mind, the teen figured that Iapetus was the figure who was standing.

He examined the Titan of Mortality closely.

Glowing silver hair was the first distinguishable feature. Next came the silver eyes, filled with steely resilience. He was tall, perhaps standing at six-and-a-half feet or more, dwarfing the Titan Lord on his throne. His complexion was severe, a frown etched into his face. There were no scars or blemishes to speak of, though a few age lines crinkled around his eyes and mouth. Perseus would peg him to be nearing thirty-five or so.

Iapetus, much like Kronos, wore modern clothing. He had dark blue jeans and brown loafers, along with an earthy brown long-sleeve shirt, making him look like a college professor.

Around his waist hung a short sword held inside of a scabbard and two daggers, all kept in place by a red leather belt. Perseus couldn't see any item which could be likened to a spear on his father's person, though it made no difference when the Titan was still armed to the teeth.

"I told you, brother, that I've no interest in fighting this war," Iapetus finally responded, placing one hand on the pommel of his sword. The other gestured vaguely through the air. "We both know that during the last Titanomachy, we should have been assured of victory. Yet, still, we failed. Now, the gods hold sway over their half-blood children, which will only strengthen their fighting capabilities. Last time, they did not call on any mortal to aid them. This time…"

Kronos sneered at the response. "But already so many have joined our forces. The Olympians have alienated too many of their allies. As the minor gods take up arms with me, so do many of their offspring. We can tip the scales in our favor.

Besides, none of those mortals will matter once Typhon fully wakes and rises. That foolish son of Poseidon, Theseus Wright, stirred the King of Monsters last summer at Mount Saint Helens. Because of him, we are closer than ever before to prevailing. Can you not see this, Iapetus? Your entire family fights against the Olympians, all of your brothers, and even your sons."

Iapetus frowned a little. "Not all of them," he muttered, looking away from the Titan Lord.

"Bah, Epimetheus swore neutrality," Kronos said dismissively. "Our armies are better off without that bumbling oaf ruining our plans. No offense brother, but that son of yours is an idiot. Titan of Afterthought? What's the use?"

Oddly enough, Perseus was certain that his father wasn't talking about Epimetheus.

"Yes… yes, Epimetheus is not the brightest tool in the shed," Iapetus scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Even so, I don't see why you need me for this, Kronos. I was the first Elder Titan to fall in the last war. I contributed nothing to the effort, having been tricked and sent to Tartarus only a few months into the struggle."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, brother," Kronos placated, rising from his throne. He stepped forward and put a hand on Iapetus' shoulder, which looked strange since the Titan King was nearly a foot shorter. "As you said, you were tricked. We were prideful thinking ourselves invincible. It wasn't until late into the war that we began assigning leaders to our great army. Our organization suffered, we were spread too thin, at least in the beginning.

That matters not, though. It took three of my own children to defeat you! Zeus, Hestia, and Demeter all working together. True, you may not be as powerful as Hyperion, Krios, Oceanus, or myself, but nobody can match your skill when you wield a weapon in hand. If we could force them into a similar situation, drawing away three major powers from their forces to fight only one of us… imagine the devastation we could wreak on their forces!"

Heaving a loud sigh, the silver-haired Titan nodded his head. "True enough. I appreciate your kind words, Kronos. That being said, I'm still considering neutrality."

For a moment, Kronos narrowed his golden eyes. He turned on his heel and grabbed the two-toned scythe by his throne. Perseus noticed his father tensing up, only to relax when Kronos walked down the marble steps.

"Very well. I will give you more time to mull over the possibility. I can't say I'm not… disappointed at your hesitance." The Titan Lord said, glancing around the room. "Now, let's move onto another top-"

When his eyes fell upon where Perseus skulked, the half-blood felt his hair stand on end.

"An intruder!" Kronos snarled. He brought his scythe around and slammed one end on the ground, cracking the marble.

Time slowed to a crawl.

Perseus didn't bother struggling against the Titan's power. Instead, he stared defiantly as the king leisurely walked to his position. Soon, he was face to face with two powerful gold eyes. Kronos grabbed him, as if he were actually solid, and threw Perseus to the middle of the room.

As soon as the teen landed, time moved normally once more. Looking up, Perseus managed to see his father's eyes widen briefly before he schooled his expression.

"You… are not who I was expecting to see," Kronos stated, twirling his scythe around, bringing it down next to Perseus' ear. The metal slid into the stone floors with ease, sheathing about half of the blade. "So then, why don't you tell me exactly who you are? What mortal would have the audacity to invade Othrys, home of the Titans, even be it in a dreamscape?"

When Perseus didn't respond, Kronos snarled and yanked his scythe out of the ground. "If you won't speak, then I'll simply send you back to the waking world with a broken mind!"

The last thing Perseus managed to see was his father reaching out to grab Kronos' scythe before his vision went stark white.

 **[[AaMT]]**

The earth shook and trembled, forcing Perseus to wake up. His eyes snapped open. A moment later his body was off the ground and he was running out of the ruined Wolf House.

He almost tripped over his feet a few times when the ground moved, but he managed to keep his balance. Some stones were shaken loose from the crumbling walls, falling dangerously close to Perseus' head.

Eventually, he made it out of the Wolf House relatively unharmed. The sky was just turning the slightest hint of pale orange, which meant it was nearing his typical wake-up call anyway. Looking around, the young man caught sight of Lupa. The goddess looked annoyed at the earthquake; as if it were an inconvenience more than anything seriously threatening.

"Any idea what's going on?" Perseus called out, catching the she-wolf's attention.

Lupa turned her silver eyes to him. Her chocolate-red fur ruffled a bit as she sat down and inclined her head. "A great threat is awakening once more. He stirs from a long slumber, prepared to make war on the gods for imprisoning him before. These tremors are simply a by-product of his fury. They come from north… a land where no sane god dares tread. It is a place filled with unspeakable horrors… _Washington_."

Stumbling to the side after another powerful shift, Perseus righted himself and thought about what Lupa had said. He was sure that Lupa was joking around when she hissed about Washington. Still, there was only one thing that could be causing the tremors which he knew of.

"We talking about Typhon?"

The goddess' lip twitched. It was a subtle gesture, but one that spoke volumes to Perseus. After having been trained by the she-wolf for over a month, he'd gone ahead and done the same to her as every other person he'd met.

Hours of observation went into understanding Lupa's expressions. It hadn't been a very easy task, that was certain. Yet, Perseus had been entertained nonetheless, learning more about the goddess through body language or facial cues.

"How do you know I was referring to the Storm Giant?"

Perseus plopped himself down on the ground next to his teacher. He stretched out his legs and leaned back on both hands. Looking up, he gave the goddess a discrete wink. "Family secret."

"I _will_ eat you," Lupa growled.

The teen laughed, which might have been a poor decision if he were anybody else. He'd learned, though, that apparently, the goddess wasn't nearly as dangerous as she tried to paint herself. Sure, she still wasn't one to take ridicule and impertinence well, but Perseus figured he had a bit of leeway with her.

"Alright, alright, calm down. I had a dream," Perseus said. "Not the Martin Luther King Jr. version either. This one was a broadcast straight from the Mountain of Despair itself. Othrys."

Silver eyes bore into him with an intensity that he'd only been privy to a few times during their five weeks together. He could feel the burning gaze searing into his head, as if she were hoping to read his thoughts… or perform a quick lobotomy.

The goddess didn't speak, which Perseus took as a sign to continue. "Cold place, that mountain. Snow, blizzards, ice, black marble. Not exactly a place to go for grandma's cookies… unless grandma was a Titanide."

"...Child…" Lupa warned, baring a few of her teeth to show her annoyance. "Get to the point."

"M'kay." Perseus held back the amused grin that threatened to crawl onto his face. He always enjoyed fooling around with the wolf goddess. "Well, I ended up inside the throne room. Kronos was talking with one of his brothers. He mentioned a son of Poseidon stirring the King of Monsters at Mount Saint Helens. If I remember right, Typhon fits the bill for what you said. Great threat, imprisoned once, long slumber, yadda, yadda."

Another tremor shook the ground.

"Do not to use the Titan Lord's name so casually…" the goddess warned. "Names hold power, they can invoke an immortals conscience if used unwisely. And he is called Saturn. Remember that when you go to camp."

"Yeah, um, no," Perseus shook his head. "That guy was one-hundred percent Kronos. You yourself told me that Titans and older beings don't have Roman forms because they came before Rome did."

With a sigh, his teacher gave him a pointed glare. "That may be true, however, many still have Roman _names_. A name and a form are different. Please try to understand this when you are introduced into the Twelfth. Saturn is a celebrated Roman god, even though as a Greek he is a―mostly―vilified Titan. True, he was imprisoned in Tartarus when Rome came into being, however, the idea of him still lingered in Roman minds. Due to their rivalry with the Greeks, the Romans chose to use him as a form of disrespect. Or, as the kids call it these days… _one sick dissing, yo_ …"

For his part, Perseus cringed at the goddess' attempted slang. "Good… uh… good try, Lupa. But please… don't…"

"Hmph, you humans and your colloquialisms never cease to confound me."

"And let's just leave it at that."

Lupa pointed her snout at the horizon. "Regardless of my _hip young lingo_ -"

" _No_."

"-The Romans have had Saturn as a symbol of good harvest for ages. It is only now that he mounts offensives against the Twelfth that he falls from grace. He has his own festival, the Saturnalia in December, though it hasn't been observed by the legion in years."

Perseus nodded along with what Lupa was saying. He yawned, still feeling tired from his poor night's rest. Idly, he wondered what would have happened if Kronos' scythe had connected with him. His father tried to stop the attack, meaning he must have been worried about it.

Such was another thought that wriggled in his mind. Iapetus had recognized him almost immediately, it seemed. Perseus wondered how that could be, though he figured it was just another mystery of the deities.

"When will I be going?" Perseus questioned.

"Today." Lupa's reply was curt, almost as if she was unsure of herself.

It struck Perseus as odd, considering he'd never heard the goddess with anything short of full confidence in her voice. She could be quite stoic when making decisions.

"Well that's just great. Was this planned or are you just deciding now?" The young man was slightly skeptical that much forethought had gone into her statement. He suspected that her initial intention was to train him for at least a little longer. Only a few days prior, she'd proposed a multi-step program to give him his very own 'wolf-stare'. It probably should have taken another week.

The stirring of Typhon must have been driving her to make new plans. Of course, Perseus could understand the reasoning. Typhon had once scared most of the Olympians into hiding, only met on the battlefield by Zeus. It was then that Typhon defeated the King of the Gods, ripped out his tendons, and flung Zeus back down to the earth. Afterwards, the Olympians took it upon themselves to help Zeus, putting his ligaments back in place and fighting the Storm Giant together until he was finally imprisoned under Mount Etna.

Perseus suspected that the Titans wouldn't pool their forces with Typhon. The smarter option would have been for them to divide and conquer. Typhon would probably be used as a massive distraction. While the gods were focused on stopping the Father of Monsters, Kronos would make his own move elsewhere.

"Does it really matter?" The goddess asked. "Either way, you'll be going to Camp Jupiter. If the Titans attack the legion, you will be needed to hold back the tide. The Romans have many good warriors, true, however, you as an individual cannot be overlooked, son of Iapetus."

The young man suppressed a wince at hearing that. When she referred to him in such a way, it only reminded him of his carelessness. For almost two weeks he'd managed to keep his heritage to himself. During their first meeting, when she asked about his parentage, Perseus managed to play ignorant.

One thing that he'd forgotten, though, was how distinctive his power was. _Rending_ wasn't something that just anybody could do. It came as a gift through his blood. In a way, it was a divine aspect of who he was, intrinsic and inimitable. Not for the first time, he wondered if any of his Titan half brothers inherited the ability.

Lupa's voice brought him out of his musings. "I do hope you know better than to use your abilities while in the camp. While I never liked Iapetus, he was never _my_ enemy. I can see the benefit of having somebody like you fighting for the Twelfth. Your disgustingly natural talent with most weapons is reason enough. Add to that your ability, and truth be told, you could defeat nearly any opponent."

"Yeah… the Olympians won't be so considerate, huh?" Perseus said. He scratched his cheek, knowing that his future would be difficult without the use of his _rending_. He'd been lucky that Lupa could be extremely pragmatic at almost all times. She stated that even though he was the spawn of their enemy, one couldn't disregard his incredible fighting ability. There were other reasons she kept him alive, though, Lupa never explicitly told him.

"Correct," Lupa agreed. "The gods look into Camp Jupiter sporadically, meaning one can be watching at any moment. True, they are Roman during that time, however, be sure that their history with the Titans has not been settled. Their paranoia―especially that of Jupiter―will get the better of them. They will not see you as a potential ally… only as another enemy who sides with the Titans."

Chuckling lightly, Perseus gave his guardian a crooked grin. "I never knew you cared so much."

"You are strong… but not strong enough to fight the Olympians all at once. They will destroy you to ensure that the Titans do not gain another weapon to use against them. It is not only in _your_ best interest to tread carefully, but also in the interest of _Rome_. Seeing as how I am Rome's wolf-mother, it is only right for me to make suggestions that would benefit the legion."

"You really _are_ just a big softie on the inside, aren't you… Lu-Lu?" Perseus smile stretched even wider.

The goddess turned her head, slower than glacial drift, toward him. Her eyes were sharp enough to cut through steel. "Start running. I'm giving you five minutes."

Jumping to his feet, Perseus slapped a pout onto his face. He stepped up to Lupa's form and held out his arms. "What? No goodbye hug and a kiss for good luck? You never even told me where to go!"

Lupa's jaws snapped a few inches from his nose. "South. Now leave me be. At least now I don't have to hear you spout incessant references to all forms of media."

"Watch out boy, she'll chew you up! Woah-oh here she comes, she's a maneater!" Perseus held his hands up and began to take steps back. "Hall and Oates, 1982. It suits you."

" _Leave_."

At that, Perseus barked out a laugh and saluted. "Ave!"

He turned and walked away, not bothering to look back. He enjoyed bothering the goddess. There was definitely a feeling of gratification in being able to annoy a deity. It made him feel like he held the power, instead of the other way around. One might think that immortals had no patience with the way Lupa responded to his deliberate provocations.

The half-blood made a mental note to stop by somewhere to get some food. For the weeks he'd spent under Lupa's gentle tutelage the best thing he ate was some charred rabbit. After all, wolves lived off the land, which meant he had to do the same, hunting and scavenging for all of his meals.

' _I'm pretty sure there's a Bargain Mart around Napa. I'll catch a cab and stop by to get some other stuff. I have some room in my backpack, so that's good. Plus, that should save me some time. Who knows how far south I'll have to travel.'_ Perseus nodded to himself as thoughts of Crispy Cheese 'n' Wieners popped into his mind. He knew that Bargain Mart was never a bad choice.

 **[[AaMT]]**

"What a mess," Perseus appraised, leaning against a tree trunk, panting as a few drops of sweat dripped from his chin. "Bargain Mart betrayed me."

He turned around to face the Nemean Lion, which had been in the store's pet aisle, pawing at some cat toys in obvious boredom. When the two had locked eyes, both of them knew the hunt was on. While Perseus hadn't been looking for fun, it had found him, which he couldn't complain about too much. He'd dashed out of the store while throwing some cash down at the register, a Nemean Lion hot on his heels.

Once they had gotten out of the cramped quarters, Perseus opted to fight the monster no-holds-barred. Sure, there had been pedestrians, but he was sure that they would be fine.

When the battle started, he soon found a Kryptonite to his powers. The monster's hide was impenetrable to ripping, tearing, piercing, and so on. Therefore, _rending_ was practically useless against the lion. Perseus figured that only its mouth and eyes could be affected properly. Such locations were quite difficult to reach, however, leading him to a long game of cat-and-mouse.

Even with his weapon, Perseus couldn't manage a direct strike. The monster was intelligent enough to cover any vulnerabilities it may have had, never allowing the earspoon near its face.

Sometimes, Perseus would run from the beast; other times the beast would run from him. Their fight had led them to the top of a hill overlooking the bay area on one side and Mount Diablo on the other.

It was dark. Very dark near the top of the hill where both the Nemean Lion and Perseus stood. The only reason he could see was because of the light pollution from a few houses below him, as well as Oakland and Berkeley. The sprawl of neighborhoods and square districts stretched out toward a body of water: the San Francisco Bay.

To his southeast, a few hundred feet down the hill was a freeway. The sound of cars racing into a tunnel echoed up to reach his ears. Through the trees, Perseus could see the occasional headlights of a vehicle before the thicket swallowed them once more.

The journey south had taken him over twelve hours. Taking the cab had been a good idea on his part. Once he'd met the Nemean Lion, he'd needed to run the rest of the time. He wasn't angry; not really. The monster proved to be the most interesting thing he'd ever fought.

With a hide that was nigh impervious to damage, he had to think outside the box to take on the lion.

He could find the fun in solving a particularly difficult puzzle, much like what had been presented to him.

Of course, when the puzzle could adapt on the fly, it became a tad more infuriating.

Perseus leaned to the side just as a claw cleaved into the tree behind him. Chunks of bark were scattered to the dirt and the tree groaned and cracked as it toppled over.

Both the teen and the lion scrambled away from the felled oak, barely avoiding the crushing weight as it smashed down. Perseus rolled into a somersault and came up quickly, already having to dodge another attack.

He didn't bother trying to block or redirect the strikes that came for him, knowing his _rending_ was inefficient. The toothpick which sat in his mouth burned with a desire for battle. Unfortunately, Perseus didn't feel the need to oblige, for it, too, wouldn't cut through the lion's skin.

' _What to do…'_

Faced with the twisted visage of a hungry monster he couldn't hurt was new for him. True, he'd only been in three _real_ fights before, but that didn't alleviate the frown that marred Perseus' face. He found it strange that all three of his battles had come within a one-week time span. It could have been coincidence, though it struck him as unlikely.

Coincidence or not, the beast still needed to die.

Hercules had strangled the monster, a long time ago in a land far, far away. A great feat no doubt, however, Perseus didn't think he could do the same. Sure, he was stronger than an average human, but he couldn't lift cars or rip trees out of the ground. While it wasn't a terrible dilemma, it still posed a problem.

Obviously, the lion wasn't unkillable. Whatever soft, squishy internal devices it had could be targeted and exploited to some extent. The only issue was _getting_ to those squishy objects.

' _Immense pressure or force could deal massive internal damage... if only I had a way…'_

The Nemean Lion roared and jumped at him. Perseus ducked left, skirting around the trunk of a tree. Sliding his hand across the bark, he took steps back and watched as the lion approached.

When the monster attacked again, it changed maneuvers. Bounding in a diagonal line, the lion hopped from one place to another with its powerful legs, almost blurring in Perseus' vision. The creature danced around in every which direction in hopes of confusing him, which the half-blood found novel. He'd never have pegged a lion as tactically oriented.

Leaves and grass clods were kicked up each time the Nemean Lion pounced, clawed from the earth in fair chunks. The rain of debris obstructed some of what Perseus could see, once more giving him more insight into the creature's intelligence.

Several seconds passed where the only movement he made was with his eyes. If he swiveled his head around, it would only disorient the young man even further. Any attempts at following the monster's path were made with his eyes and ears. Even when the creature disappeared behind him momentarily, Perseus kept himself from turning.

The desire to do so was strong. It was a natural reaction in the face of danger, as Lupa had explained. She'd been the one to beat the reflex out of him. While instinct was a boon in many cases, there were times when planned action was necessary. Such times were especially apparent in battles.

A smart fighter would almost always beat a strong fighter, as per Lupa's wisdom. Just like a general should never assume victory because of difference in army size; so too should individual fighters never assume victory because of power or ability difference.

With that in mind, Perseus kept his head and body aligned and rigorously constrained. He fought the urge to turn around and check on the lion, instead using his ears to pick up any discernible changes, and relying on his instincts to kick in if danger became his shadow.

Eventually, his attentiveness paid in full. The Nemean Lion jumped off to his right, settled itself close to the ground, and leaped at him faster than it had moved before.

Twisting his body, he allowed the monster's extended claws miss his chest. A split-second later he reached out and grabbed onto his enemy's mane. He gripped tight and jumped while pulling himself closer to the lion.

Perseus swung his leg over the other side of the lion, straddling the monster, effectively turning into a free ride. For a second, the half-blood was surprised at the softness of the fur. He'd been expecting something more akin to metal, considering that nothing could pierce it. Rather than that, it felt warm and somewhat coarse, though still fairly fluffy.

It had been a fairly dangerous idea; as any attempts to ride an infamous legendary monster would be. It hadn't been very well planned or executed, since Perseus' arm ached fiercely at his shoulder, where the muscles had been strained due to the monster's momentum. If he were honest with himself, it shouldn't have worked out as well as it did.

Disregarding his negativity, Perseus yanked the lion's mane, pulling its head up a few inches.

"Calm down," he said, tugging at the hair once more. "Stop struggling. You're only going to suffer more if you fight me."

Instead of heeding his words, the monster began to buck wildly. The motions were certainly uncomfortable for his groin and thighs, but Perseus did his best to mitigate the pain by leaning back slightly, absorbing most of the impacts with his glutes.

He grunted and groaned as the lion continued to jump and kick.

Thinking quick, he leaned forward and jammed two fingers into the monster's eye. Perseus didn't allow his opponent to do anything further, hooking his fingers into its eye socket, giving him some leverage on its skull.

The lion roared. A thin gelatinous substance seeped out of the socket, meshing through Perseus' fingers, slickening the hold he'd gotten. He ignored the slippery material and reaffirmed his grip by pulling upwards, forcing the monster's head to follow suit.

As he tried to bring the lion to heel, something touched the back of his mind, calling for him to follow its voice. He took a quick glance down the hill. Instinct told him that he was needed somewhere on the freeway. It took him a moment to recognize where he was.

Caldecott Tunnel.

"Alright, Maximilian―I hope you like the name, because you're stuck with it until you die―we're going down," Perseus said, turning the monster around, his fingers dug deeply into Maximilian's eye socket.

The Nemean Lion roared in pain as it bounded forward. It persisted in trying to heave Perseus off its back, running full speed with the occasional hop mixed into its movements. Maximilian's attempts were in vain, though.

Perseus guided the lion down the hill, weaving through trees and rocks until they were twenty feet from a tall chain-link fence.

He tugged up on the lion's mane to force a jump.

Maximilian didn't follow the command, instead opting to pick up speed and run directly for the fence.

Realizing what his pet monster was wont to do, the half-blood flattened himself against Maximilian's back. Not a second later, the duo smashed through the flimsy barrier. A few broken links grazed his face, biting into the skin.

"Damn it, Max," Perseus muttered. They ran into traffic, sending cars swerving. He wondered what the mortals were seeing, what with the Mist obscuring reality and forcing them to accept something more plausible.

The lion ran forward, uncaring of cars, scrambling over hoods and roofs alike without a care. The sound of screeching metal made Perseus cringe a bit. When he looked back, motorists were stepping out of their damaged vehicles, waving their fists wildly at him and Max.

Orange light from the highway lamps illuminated the path leading to the tunnel. There were two entrances, one for traffic heading north and the other for southbound travelers.

About a hundred feet of asphalt separated the two tunnels from one another. Between them was a solid gray wall of cement. A fairly large metallic door stood proudly on the stone. Perseus did a few quick mental calculations, before nodding to himself and urging the monster onward.

Looking at the door gave him a sense of safety, as if beyond lay a promised utopia. The instinct that Lupa helped him hone swarmed like an angry army of bees in his brain, buzzing and bumping into every thought.

Standing beside the door were two people dressed in a patchwork of modern and dated clothing: silver segmented cuirasses, red plumed Roman helmets, purple T-shirts, jeans, and sneakers. Swords hung at their waists and a few pilums were leaned up near the door.

When they saw the Nemean Lion running toward them, they seemed to panic.

Perseus couldn't rightfully blame them, either. "Open the doors! Max isn't in the best mood!" Perseus shouted, straining his voice so that he could be heard over the traffic and wind.

The two guards looked at one another. They appeared to be arguing; however, when Perseus and Max drew closer, they made their decision. One snatched a pilum from the wall while the other hauled the door open.

Perseus gave them a hasty salute as he passed, risking to take his hand off Max's mane. "Ave!"

Thankfully, the door and subsequent corridor were large enough to fit a seven-foot tall lion through it.

The scenery passed by almost too fast for him to properly digest. Perseus had to stoop slightly in order to not hit his head, but otherwise there was plenty of room. The tunnel was lined with cables wrapped in rubber running along the walls, a few electrical boxes scattered throughout.

Soon, the floor changed into mosaic tile―blue, green, and red amalgamating almost nauseatingly. The tunnel smelled of dank, rotting wood mixed with rusted metal and chlorine.

Torches began to line the walls as he and Max approached an end to the tunnel.

Soon, they exited the passageway, emerging an open inky gloom. Perseus pulled back on Max's mane and eye socket, bringing the monster to a soft, barely restrained halt.

Light burned further ahead of him, tiki torches lining the banks of a long, winding river. Several cobblestone bridges were made apparent by the flickering flames, built to allow easy access from one side to the other. Crickets chirped in a dull cacophony.

Across the river, only about five-hundred feet away, was what appeared to be a military encampment. More torches lit up the ramparts, which were made out of the earth―not marble like at Mount Othrys. There were four ramparts, boxing in the sizeable garrison on each side. Large wooden stakes topped each rampart, adding to the intimidation factor.

Thirty-foot tall watchtowers rose into the night sky, and Perseus could see that each one was manned with a few people. The watchtowers were equipped with large artillery weapons, perhaps ballistae, if Perseus knew ancient siege weaponry―which he didn't.

A well-worn dirt path led from the stone bridge to a narrow wooden gate that rested between two of the sentry towers. Smells of cooking food soon washed over him. It must have been nearing eight in the evening, which might have meant dinner for some people. His mouth watered at the scents, which also attracted the attention of Max's sensitive nose.

The lion turned, seeming to forget that Perseus' fingers were still knuckle-deep in its eye. Without warning, Max charged.

' _This must be Camp Jupiter. So on top of that cooking meat, he must smell demigod flesh. This could be problematic…'_

The semi-tamed monster rushed across the bridge.

Sounds of shrill horns carried over the field. Perseus could see people staggering out of the gate, hastily drawing their weapons. Most of them wore armor much like the two guards at the entrance, though there were a few who only wore light casual clothing.

Rows of Romans tried to form ranks, a few more ornately dressed people standing off to the side, shouting orders and gesturing wildly. The speed at which nearly sixty campers had organized impressed Perseus. Even though they were probably ready to start turning in for the night, the Romans were able to assemble and defend their home.

Recalling Lupa's words, Perseus opted to give them a bit of practical entertainment. It would be like a good old-fashioned coliseum fight.

Yanking his hand out of Max's eye, the half-blood raised his fist and let loose with the strongest punch he could muster. When his knuckles collided with Max's neck, the monster tumbled forward.

He leaped from its back, landing on his feet with a slight stagger. Max flipped head over tail until it finally rolled to a stop. Perseus flexed his fingers out, only a bit surprised that he hadn't broken every single bone in his arm.

' _Like I thought. The fur isn't metallic at all, there's just some form of magic that stops it from being destroyed. Blunt force trauma still works perfectly fine. Hercules stunned it with his club before strangling it… then used its own claws to skin it."_

Perseus glanced at the silver claws on each paw. Legend said that they were sharp enough to cut through man-made metal. Even then, his own weapon wasn't man-made. It couldn't cut into the lion's hide, which meant that there was definitely magic surrounding the monsters odd form of invulnerability.

Spitting the toothpick into his hand, Perseus let it transform.

Thinking of a proper name for his Bohemian earspoon had proven to be quite troublesome. He'd run through a few names with Lupa. The first one to be shot down was Penetratur, which more or less meant 'To Pierce' in Latin. As soon as he'd suggested it, he knew it was going to be ridiculed. Even _Lupa_ had snickered at hearing him say it out loud. Why a multi-millennia old goddess would allow herself to act so puerile was beyond him.

In the end, he didn't really think something Latin was the way to go. He figured himself closer to Greek and Usonian―a peculiar little demonym that he enjoyed using―instead of Roman, more so the latter than the former. Therefore he'd named his polearm to match: **Ωθηση** , pronounced Othisi.

As per usual, there could be many interpretations, however, he termed it Impetus in English. Drive, impulse, moving force, momentum of a body, stimuli for movement, the force that makes something happen. A fitting term not only limited to his spear.

Once his weapon was fully revealed, Perseus twirled it around in his hand and hefted it onto his shoulder.

Maximilian snarled, dried blood staining the left side of its face from the ruined eye. The torches cast looming shadows of both combatants' forms. When the lion finally attacked, Perseus tightened his grasp on Impetus and rotated the polearm around.

His former pet hadn't seen the spear coming due to its left eye being gone. It yelped when Impetus rammed into its side, knocking the beast a dozen feet away. No blood was drawn but Perseus was sure Max must have been hurting.

The weapon was heavy. He hadn't noticed such weight when he fought against the empousai, probably due to adrenaline or other factors. When he'd trained with Lupa the substantial burden that simply holding Impetus brought was made apparent. Such was just another reason to call the polearm as it was.

A faint whistle cut through the air. Several arrows bounced harmlessly off of Max's pelt, falling to the ground with broken points. Perseus glanced back and saw a line of archers lowering their bows and shaking their heads, muttering to one another at the failure.

"Scorpios!" A boy with blond hair stepped up and pointed at Max. "Fire!"

The artillery pieces mounted on the watchtowers launched large bolts at the monster. Each bolt slammed into Max's hide, sending it tumbling back a few paces, growling in frustration.

Perseus noted that his opponent focused attention on the sentry towers, and took his chance. He moved toward Max and brought Impetus down in a strong arc. The monster had no time to move before it was clubbed on the head, sending its snout crashing into the ground.

Stunned, the beast scampered back, only for Perseus to swing again, striking horizontally across its neck.

Not giving his foe any time to recover, he continued to assault Max with heavy blows to its body, legs, and face. The creature staggered, swaying slightly on its feet each time it tried to regain its bearings.

The son of Iapetus waited patiently for the proper opportunity. He disregarded the sounds of shouting from behind him, as well as the horns that still shrieked on occasion. Focusing on the golden monster before him, the half-blood avoided any stray paws that came his way while reciprocating each attack.

Jumping over a low sweep, Perseus finally found his moment to strike true. He twirled Impetus in his hand, the metal blade cutting through the ground as it went in an upward crescent, connecting with Max's chin a second later.

The Nemean Lion's jaws slammed shut harshly on its own tongue, cutting the pink organ in half. Blood spilled from its mouth as it cried out, giving Perseus what he wanted. Impetus slammed into both of Max's front legs. The lion fell forward and Perseus vaulted onto its back, using his spear as leverage.

He slid Impetus under the creature's neck, holding close to the butt-end and the spearhead, using the maroon wood to choke Max. He pulled up, pressing his chest to the monster's head, holding it in place.

His muscles strained as he strangled the lion. Max shook and shuddered, trying to loosen Perseus' hold. It was still dazed, however, and losing blood too quickly from its tongue. The weakened creature was dying. Perseus could tell as much rather easily. He could see the fire in its remaining eye slowly dwindling as its breath and blood ran short.

In a final act of desperation, Max stood on its hind legs and tipped backward. Perseus cursed as he was rammed into the ground, pinned underneath the large beast. He pushed his head out of Max's fur, gasping for air even while dust filled his nose and mouth.

Perseus coughed heavily but didn't let up on his chokehold. He was intimately aware of every sound that echoed in his ears. The crumpling of dirt, the panting coming from his own mouth, and the strangled death rallies of Maximilian. Underneath the lion's fur and pinned to the ground, heat built in his face and body. His ribs and sternum creaked under the weight. Something sharp dug into the fleshy area of his lower back, only compounding the discomfort.

Soon, the world became blurry. Dark spots danced in and out of his vision, blotting what he saw like ink spots on white paper. More and more sounds were lost, being swept away by the wind that managed to tickle his neck. Sweat coated his entire body, making his clothing stick to him.

Time was irrelevant. Perseus had no idea how long he'd been strangling the lion.

It was all inconsistent.

Blood pounded in his head, giving him a slight form of greater awareness. His left arm soon felt like it had fallen asleep, tingling and making him almost falter in his hold.

Darkness pulsed into the very edges of his vision. His eyes soon closed, before they snapped open and he lurched forward.

With a jerking body, Perseus quickly realized that just like the lion, he too, was on the verge of dying. Barking out a painful laugh, the half-blood felt a little more revitalized. The ground below him felt increasingly uncomfortable. With a great heave, he rolled both himself and Max over, no longer wanting to be on the dirt.

His world spun and soon he was back on top of Max. The monster had stopped moving, instead, it simply lay still, no longer breathing.

Somewhere far off he heard drowsy chuckling and a soft congratulatory statement. The voice sounded like it was coming from everywhere. Above him. Below him. From each blade of grass and each speck of dirt. It was a surreal experience.

Perseus blinked several times. He let his arms fall loose and slowly removed himself from the Nemean Lion. Cool air greeted his greedy lungs. A few coughs racked his body again before he settled himself and stared at the rows of warriors.

They stared back at him, most probably unsure what to make of him. Out of the corner of his eye, Perseus noted that only a golden pelt remained of Maximilian's body. Scooping the pelt up, he found a grin ready to break out on his face. The Romans' expressions almost made him chuckle.

He'd gone over what he wanted to say multiple times while at the Wolf House. First impressions were typically his strong suit, however, as it stood, Perseus wasn't in any mood to try. Instead, he did the first thing that came to mind; setting aside hours upon hours of meticulous planning and rehearsing in favor of spontaneity.

Lifting his arms up, still holding the golden hide and Impetus in either hand, he nodded at the gathered campers. "You may kneel, my dudes and dudettes. After that… take me to your leaders."

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 **A/N: The last three chapters have all ended with dialogue. Coincidence? I'll let you decide that, dear audience.**


	4. Soul to Squeeze

**A/N: ConnorPerson, Death Fury, DandySquid, ThatNerdFromSchool, Guest #2: Thank you for your kind words.**

 **Guest #1: Dank memes.**

 **Guest #3: I agree as to why canon Percabeth works. It's a complementary relationship. Thanks for the review.**

 **Oh, shout out to Trigger-Happy Texan for inspiring me to think harder about what to call Percy's weapon. He gave me a good laugh over Penetratur.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own or make any money off of this work of fanfiction. All rights for the characters in Percy Jackson and the Olympians and Heroes of Olympus go to Rick Riordan and all who were involved in the creation of the novels.**

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4\. Soul to Squeeze

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Reyna Ramírez-Arellano had seen many great feats in her time.

She'd been under Circe's care for years, watching as the sorceress placed men under her spell with little more than words and charming smiles.

When her home was sacked by Blackbeard, she found Camp Jupiter, meeting Jason Grace for the first time. The son of Jupiter was an impressive man, and there were many occasions where he proved such. Reyna, without any letters of recommendation, had been vouched for by Jason, who'd seen her fight off a few giant scorpions by the freeway.

Since he'd already been centurion of the Fifth Cohort, his word carried weight. Reyna had gone on to serve two years in the Fifth, only recently having been raised to the rank of centurion alongside Jason during the Labyrinthine Invasion last summer.

What a mess that had been. Both praetors; _dead_. Five centurions; _dead_. Thirty good Roman soldiers; _dead_. And the monsters could always come back. Their essence would reform in Tartarus and they would sneak into the mortal world once again.

None of her comrades could say the same unless Lord Pluto was feeling extremely generous.

The centurion positions had been filled in short order to keep morale and public order up.

When it came to the praetorship, however, things were bogged down by tradition and fissure. Nobody had been raised on a shield after the invasion and the Feast of Fortuna was still two months away. Camp Jupiter had been without strong leadership for three-quarters of a year.

She was sure, that Jason's many great feats would finally be recognized for all their worth, and that he would be given the praetorship.

One thing Jason had never done, though, was riding a Nemean Lion into camp, then fighting it one-on-one, ending the monster by strangling it just like legend spoke. The battle hadn't been long, lasting no more than two-minutes, but in that time over one-hundred Romans had seen the spectacle.

And so, instead of sitting down again to finish her dinner, Reyna and the other centurions were gathered in the principia. They were seated around the long table, which was used for less formal meetings that didn't involve the senate.

At the far end of the table stood the one who'd slain the Nemean Lion.

Perseus Jackson, as he'd called himself.

His hair was odd, being two separate colors, gray sprinkled through the front of the otherwise black tone. He had peculiar eyes as well. Never in her life had she seen such green eyes. In the low-light, his irides seemed to twist and writhe within their glossy prisons.

When he looked to her, she suppressed a wince. Perhaps it was the adrenaline from fighting the monster, but their piercing nature was incredibly unnerving.

Taking her gaze off of his, Reyna continued her observations. His posture told of confidence, an attractive quality for any aspiring Roman legionnaire. His features were sharp, mostly Mediterranean in nature. The nose was perhaps an exception, being straight and curve free. Of course, the eyes, too, were anything but normal.

He seemed relaxed by the way he lightly smiled around the room, his eyebrows pushed up just a bit and his eyes crinkled with hints of amusement.

Years with Circe gave Reyna an understanding of false expressions. The sorceress could look positively radiant and carefree when dealing with potential guinea pigs, and then change to cruel and disdainful once she'd done the deed.

With that in mind, Reyna could already imagine just how dangerous Perseus Jackson could be.

The boy was a warrior, as demonstrated by the pelt on the table. For him to also be an orator was asking for trouble.

Octavian was already trouble enough. Reyna didn't think she could deal with another person who fought with words over weapons.

"So…" Jason spoke, being seated directly to her left.

The other centurions shifted slightly, glancing between him and Perseus. Every officer had introduced themselves to Perseus already, at the beginning of the meeting. When his eyes fell on them, Reyna could see them strain to hold his stare. All of them had been to the Wolf House, as per custom dictated. They'd each been trained to hone their instinct, otherwise most wouldn't have found Camp Jupiter. Therefore, everybody must have felt the same way being in the presence of both Jason and the newcomer.

Instinct told them to run for cover, as if a storm would break out, hauling them all into the night sky. Two fronts, cold and hot, would collide. The result would leave New Rome in shambles.

From what Reyna understood, most people felt something when Jason was around. He demanded to be seen, heard, and felt. The son of Jupiter commanded respect, even if he _was_ a typically soft-spoken person.

The newcomer, though, held something different about him. Perseus didn't demand anything from them. Him being there, standing with his arms crossed and his disingenuous countenance, didn't tell those around him to bend the knee. He asked for no respect, no allegiance, no love.

Rather than that, Reyna could see what everybody else felt when his sickly, caustic, frightening eyes scanned over their bodies. The only thing he seemed to command from them with but a glance, with only his exuded aura that crept up and sunk deep into every pore of the skin.

 _Caution._

There was something _very_ wrong with Perseus Jackson. Each centurions' instinct was probably screaming such at them. The unease that spread like a pestilence through the room was palpable. The newcomer only seemed entertained by it.

"So…" Perseus repeated the word, rolling it over his tongue slowly. He glanced at each officer, the same damnable half-smile gracing his face. "Is it usually this awkward or…?"

Octavian cleared his throat. He sat at the head of the table, smoothing out the toga that he always insisted on wearing. "Yes, well, I do think that you killing the Nemean Lion has left us at a loss."

Perseus turned his eyes to Octavian. The augur twitched, much to Reyna's satisfaction.

"How so? Lupa told me that the legion was made up of the strongest demigods. Nobody could reach Camp Jupiter without first going through her training, which must mean that this isn't the most impressive thing you've ever seen," the newcomer spoke softly, just a bit above a whisper. His voice ghosted across the room. It was nowhere near as friendly as his face was.

Reyna leaned forward in her seat and steepled her fingers. "You're very right on that account." She gestured to her left. "My co-centurion has done many incredible things. I've watched as he slaughtered hordes of monsters with only a sword in hand and his natural power."

Hank Tibbet, centurion of the Third, spoke next. "Most of the centurions here have all done some pretty great things. Trust me kid, you aren't the first to kill a legendary monster, and you won't be the last."

"Oh you don't have to worry about me growing too confident. There really isn't a need to cut me down to size right now, like you're trying to do," Perseus said, his smile growing a hair. He glanced at both Reyna and Hank, almost condescendingly. "Because really, your attempts aren't going to do any good. My confidence doesn't come from what you or anybody else might think of me. I have decent self-esteem, which means more than anything you could give me. I've killed the lion, true; heretofore, I've also killed seven empousai, a pack of Hellhounds, and a Chimera on my own. The Nemean Lion wasn't the first monster I killed… nor will it be the last."

Michael Kahale, First Cohort centurion alongside Octavian, pounded his fist on the table. "Damn straight it won't be! We're at war, which means that there'll be plenty more monster killin' to go around for all of us here. And you," Michael pointed straight at Perseus with a grin. "I want you with us, here in the First. We can help one another, see. You clearly have good fighting talent… but it's unrefined. If you're gonna battle alongside the legion, you've gotta learn how to actually _fight alongside the legion_. Get it?"

The graying teen pondered what Michael was saying. "You mean, that I need to learn your _Roman_ techniques, formations, orders… am I on the right track?"

" _Exactly_. And at the First… well there's no better place to be trained at. We're the strongest cohort. Most unified, best fighters, most disciplined. You've got fire, but it's all over the place. I want to harness it, make you a torch, and not a raging inferno."

Perseus smiled tightly. "A tool."

"We're all tools for the legion. We're the swords and shields of Rome, of our parents' tradition. We safeguard Roman ideals and carry the responsibility on our shoulders. _We are the Twelfth Legion_ ," Michael said, leaning forward in his seat. His smile was so wide it was almost contagious. Some of the other centurions nodded along at the impassioned speech.

Tabitha Guilles scoffed and shook her head. "We aren't all fanatics, though, Perseus. Some of us, like we in the Third, aren't going to work you to the bone so that you can be the legion's _sword or shield_ alone. We relax from time to time, have fun… you know, live our lives for ourselves. If you wanna be molded into a tool, literally and figuratively, then go ahead and join the First or Second. If not, I would recommend the Third... maybe even the Fifth nowadays that Jason and Reyna lead it."

"This is all extremely irregular," Octavian cut in, stopping Michael from snapping back a response. "Why are we bickering amongst ourselves when none of us have consulted the auguries? Should we just allow anybody who slays monsters to join? If so, how does that help the legion at all? Would we so easily abandon the gods' counsel?"

He laughed lightly and shrugged. "Then there's the fact that we haven't even asked for letters of reference. Does he have any credentials other than killing a few monsters? Should we truly start disregarding traditions that have been in place since the camp was founded? Especially now, in times of great strife?"

For a moment, Reyna thought that Perseus seemed impressed with the way Octavian spoke. When she checked again, all she found was the same expression as before.

"Your talking scarecrow makes a good point," Perseus replied, gesturing to Octavian. Reyna bit the inside of her lip to stop the smile that nearly broke free. A few other centurions coughed to hide chuckles. "I shouldn't be treated any different from the other prospective legionnaires. Truth be told, I really have no desire to be, either. You know nothing about me, my background, my motives. You all have no reason to trust me. The rest of the legion is the same… so then what would it say to them if you were to give me special privileges?"

The newcomer shook his head and looked down. "I have no problem going through the motions to earn your trust. If that means starting from the bottom because I have no 'letters of reference' or anything like that, then so be it. I didn't come here to break your traditions and ideals. If I become a legionnaire, then I want to have earned it the way other people did before me. During that time, I also hope to earn your trust and acceptance."

Jason shifted in his seat. He leaned closer so that he could whisper in Reyna's ear. "The guy's got guts. I like him. What do you think?"

She was tempted to agree with him. Perseus certainly sounded authentic when he spoke. His countenance and body language told her that he wasn't lying.

However, after her time with Circe, the daughter of Bellona felt that Perseus Jackson was holding something back. When she glanced around, her peers were all nodding along at Perseus, approval clear in their actions. All but her and Octavian, that was. She didn't particularly take pleasure in that thought.

An abrupt chill went down her spine.

When Reyna turned back to Perseus, she was met with eyes that threatened to swallow her in their writhing depths. The boy gazed at her with an intensity that she'd never felt before. Her stomach turned violently at seeing his pseudo-glare.

 _Danger_. _Cede. Surrender._

"Reyna? Hey, Reyna," Jason gently shook her shoulder.

"He… yes… he'd make a good legionnaire…" she muttered, not wanting to look at the green any longer.

He'd dared her to say something else. He could see that she doubted him far more than anybody else. Perseus gave her the opportunity to defy him… and she'd balked at the chance. She'd played into his hand and felt relief in doing so.

Reyna glared at the table balefully. How nobody else could see the threat that Perseus posed was beyond her.

' _By the gods, he's even worse than Octavian!'_ Reyna morbidly thought. ' _At least that scumbag is a poor fighter. All he's got is his silver tongue. Perseus, though…"_

"Well, I'm glad you all seem to agree with me," Perseus smiled. "What's the next step, then?"

"An augury reading," Octavian bit out, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Usually I would perform these at the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus… however it's getting late. We'll read your augury here, to see if you are fit to serve the legion."

Pulling a teddy bear from his belt, he took his knife and slashed the defenseless toy. He tore the stuffing out and discarded the carcass.

The lanky augur bent over the 'entrails' and muttered something under his breath. He frowned after a while and leaned closer into the fluff, once again speaking under his breath.

Finally, Octavian sat up, looking like he'd been force-fed ipecac. "Mixed omens with this one. Still, he is clear to join."

Everybody nodded, some appearing to be more eager than others.

"We'll respect your wishes," Jason told Perseus. "If you want to climb the ladder like everybody else, then it only makes us look fair in the eyes of our soldiers. Already the camp is having a difficult time with leadership…"

Reyna nudged her co-centurion's arm and shook her head. They shouldn't lay bare the problems that the legion was having to a newcomer. Especially not one as dangerous as the boy in front of them.

The son of Jupiter coughed. He settled back into his chair.

"What my colleague was saying," Reyna addressed Perseus with a level stare, putting her gaze on his nose to avoid any gut-wrenching nausea. "Was that without letters of reference you'd have to be vouched for by another member of the legion. The problem is that every centurion here has seen you fight, as has nearly half of the legion's forces. Too many people would try and get you into their sphere of influence."

Tilting his head, Perseus looked surprised. "The way you're talking makes it sound like there is no impartial official here in New Rome."

His words were met with silence. He glanced around the room slowly before shrugging. "Of course, why would you tell anything to me. Let's move on from that."

"Right… well… you'll be placed on probatio. As per tradition…" Reyna thinned her lips. "You'll also be joining the Fifth Cohort, since you have no credentials or references."

"Ah, so that means I'll be under your command, Reyna Ramírez-Arellano and Jincy Gratz-"

" _Jason Grace._ "

Perseus smirked and waved off Jason's sour look. "Right, right. I look forward to working with you, then."

Octavian clapped his hands once, his face torn between amusement and concern. The augur let out a strained smile, trying his best to appear in control. "Now that we have all this settled, why don't we call it an evening? I'm sure both Jason and Reyna need to accommodate our newest recruit while the rest of us attend to our own nightly routines."

With that, the meeting was brought to an end. Jason made his way to Perseus with Reyna following by his side. The newest legionnaire was watching the two of them closely, his eyes never leaving their forms.

' _Dangerous indeed.'_

"Welcome to the Fifth Cohort, Perseus Jackson," Jason formally announced, reaching his hand out.

"Thanks for having me," Perseus replied, taking the blond's hand and giving it a good shake.

The three stood in the empty room for several seconds. Reyna broke the tense silence, figuring it would do them no good to awkwardly size each other up. "We'll take you to our barracks and find you a place to sleep. Tomorrow, someone will give you a tour of Camp Jupiter, so you can get a lay of the land. You'll be told what you need to be told in the morning, Perseus."

His smile stretched a bit. Inclining his head, the young man grabbed the Nemean Lion's pelt, slinging it over one shoulder. "I can't wait."

 **[[AaMT]]**

Perseus could freely admit that in the bright California sun, Camp Jupiter looked amazing. He stood between the bath house and the barracks block, staring out at the city of New Rome.

Many of the buildings were made of white marble, red tile roofs topping them. There was a coliseum at the far end of the city sitting beside an oval chariot track.

At the center of the city was a large open area with tall freestanding columns, trees, and various stone statues dotting the plaza. He could barely make out the movement of people going about their business.

It wasn't a large city, but it certainly was a nice one. He wondered how long it had taken to build the whole thing.

A few people passed by him, chatting amiably as they moved into the bath house. Perseus himself had just finished his first Roman bath. He knew it'd taken him far too long, but the warm water and the wafting steam had lulled his senses into comfort, soothing him into a nice lethargy. It was a nice way to start his first day as a member of the Twelfth Legion.

"There you are."

Perseus turned around. He was met with Reyna's disgruntled visage. His centurion wore a purple T-shirt and light blue jeans. Her hair was done in a single braid, draped over her shoulder. She crossed her arms and gave him a dry look.

Her dark brown―near obsidian―eyes fell to his bare chest. He hadn't bothered to put on his new camp shirt yet, so all he was dressed in was a pair of standard issue swimming trunks and flip-flops he'd been given last night. With a towel hanging around his neck he probably looked like some typical beach bum, which didn't really bother him.

Reyna's face crinkled a bit when her gaze found his right pectoral. She remained silent, though. Instead of speaking, she fished inside her pocket for a few seconds. Eventually, she withdrew her hand and threw a small object to Perseus.

Catching what she tossed, the young man looked at the small tablet curiously. On it, his name was printed, with the number of his cohort just underneath it. The name tag was attached to a string and looked to be made of lead.

He slipped it on over the silver necklace from his father.

"Until you earn your stripes, you are required to wear that tablet at all times while you're in camp," Reyna said.

Perseus nodded. "With all the people walking around I feel like I missed breakfast."

"You did," she replied with a sigh. Shaking her head, she handed him a granola bar. "Normally, we have breakfast as a cohort to show unity. Since it's your first day, and you probably didn't know, I'll let it go this time. Anyway, I'm gonna be the one to tour you around New Rome."

He snorted softly. "No need to sound so enthusiastic about it. What bet did you lose?"

Reyna rubbed her eyebrows tiredly. "I don't know. It must have been a pretty important one, though."

The son of Iapetus rolled his eyes and motioned to the barracks. "Mind if I get changed into something appropriate first?"

"By all means. Gods know that you scaring the children in New Rome is the last thing that we need."

He didn't reply, walking off and moving to his own residence. Reyna followed suit a second later, catching his stride and walking next to him. From the corner of his eye, Perseus saw the centurion playing with a dagger that was strapped to her waist. Her head would occasionally turn his way, which gave him the impression that she wasn't the most subtle at reconnaissance.

It was clear that she didn't trust him. Even though she'd sounded grudging, Perseus guessed that she volunteered to be his guide that morning. A confrontation between them was brewing, especially since he'd stirred the pot last night at the principia.

The demi-titan couldn't afford to keep her as an enemy. He needed as many allies in Camp Jupiter as he could get. They would need to trust him, to view him as a comrade, perhaps even a friend or leader in time.

As loathe as he was to admit it, he would eventually have to rely on them to stay alive. The thought agitated him to no end, but it was a truth that he'd come to accept. One day, he wouldn't be able to keep his secret any longer. One Olympian or another would see him use his power. Just like Lupa they would remember who else could use such an odd ability; and then, they would try to kill him.

Before then, he needed to gather support. Perseus had to gain the trust of the Roman demigods, so that they could defend him when the time came.

He didn't expect them to fight their parents for him. All he required was for them to convince the gods that Perseus was not an enemy. If they could do that, he would be relatively safe. If necessary he would hit the gods first. No doubt, the gods would be wary of him, but if there was at least a bit of hesitance it could prove advantageous.

' _Guess I'll just have to keep playing the game. Reyna and Jason seem popular with the other legionnaires, more than the other centurions. The king and queen. Michael Kahale and Victor Saunders, also respected. Centurions of the First and Second. Important pieces. Rooks.'_ Perseus stopped naming pieces once he opened the door to his barrack.

Reyna stood by the door, leaning against the wall, obviously planning to wait for him to be done. He met her eyes for a brief moment, nodding to her as he entered the barrack.

Perseus had met his bunkmates the previous night, making their acquaintance even through the odd looks and hushed whispers. He couldn't rightfully recall all of their names, but that suited him fine. While none of them struck him as model legionnaires, he figured that they could play a role in what he had planned. While they would only be pawns at best, even the lowliest piece was useful for one reason or another.

The room was fairly bare. Ten bunk beds were pushed up against three of the wooden walls, many of the mattresses clean and unused. Tall metal lockers lined the entrance wall, each having a small white label stamped onto the door, names printed neatly so that nobody would mistakenly open a locker that wasn't theirs. Lanterns were pinned to each wall at varying intervals.

He walked to his locker and opened the metal door. After dressing himself in the purple camp shirt and tan shorts, Perseus glanced at the golden pelt that rested on his bed. Taking the fur in hand, he gave it a perfunctory gaze, partially tempted to try and wear it like Hercules.

With that thought in mind, the spoil of war changed shape. A dull glimmer overtook the hide and soon Perseus held onto a golden-brown leather duster, almost as long as he was tall. He frowned. While it was neat how the pelt could change shape, it took a form that didn't exactly appeal to him.

He threw the coat back down onto his bed. Last night he'd spent a little bit of time examining the Nemean Lion's hide. During that time it's metamorphic nature was revealed to him. Unfortunately, the shape seemed to be set into that of the duster.

In a way it made sense. The lion's fur covered practically all of its body, so it wouldn't be a stretch to believe that its other form could do the same. Besides, the form of a duster was preferable to that of a gold poncho.

With Impetus in his mouth, Perseus walked out of the cabin, his footsteps clacking against the wooden entry steps. Reyna moved toward him.

"Ready?" Her question was tinged with reigned impatience. Perseus could see that she wasn't particularly happy with the job that she'd accepted, but one way or another he needed her on his side. It wouldn't be easy, nor would it be done in one day.

Then again, Rome wasn't built in a day, so he figured that time wasn't exactly against him quite yet. "After you, Reyna."

 **[[AaMT]]**

The walk to and through New Rome was a silent affair. Perseus found himself shaking his head at the tension that lingered between him and Reyna. Frankly, it bugged him. He needed her support eventually, but she was difficult to talk to.

New Rome itself was very nice to stroll around in, though. He found himself appreciating the buildings and the people alike. Children would often cross their path, laughing and chasing after one another. Couples sat on benches or under shaded patios, relishing in their peace and closeness. The city was aflutter with activity and the dull drone of voices wasn't overbearing in the slightest.

"Let's stop just up ahead," Reyna announced, pointing at a café with plenty of outdoor seating. From afar, it looked quaint, but it obviously meant something to Reyna if her enthusiastic steps were anything to judge by.

Perseus followed behind his centurion curiously. He hadn't seen her acting… _normal_ … ever since he'd met her. Sure, they'd only been acquainted for little more than a few hours, but she was especially reserved around him. Or, perhaps, she was just naturally rigid.

Either way, the son of Iapetus knew an opportunity when he saw one. Locations with sentimental value often led to loose emotional defenses. Indulging her at the café would be his best shot at getting a foot in the door―figuratively speaking.

Reyna directed them to an umbrella-covered table with two metal mesh chairs. When they sat down, a waiter came over to take their orders, twirling a pen in one hand and holding a small notepad in the other.

"Medium hot chocolate and an asiago bagel for me," Reyna said, interlacing her fingers. The waiter scribbled quickly before turning to Perseus.

Looking over the small laminated menu he'd been handed, Perseus tapped a finger on the wooden tabletop. The day was fairly warm for early April, with the sun shining down on the entire basin that housed Camp Jupiter, showing signs of spring heat. It wasn't uncomfortable, not by any stretch of the imagination, but hot chocolate seemed like a poor choice in such weather.

That being said, Perseus didn't take Reyna for a fool. Her choice must have been made for a reason. He placed the menu down and smiled at the waiter. "I'll have what she's having."

Once the worker left to place their orders, Reyna leaned back in her chair and glanced around the area. Nobody else was within earshot, Perseus noted, with only a scattering of bodies seated at the café. Most of the people were in pairs or groups, more smiling and quiet laughing being shared. The atmosphere of the entire city felt the same. It was a pleasant place to be.

A few birds chirped on the red roofs and from a few trees that flowered with green leaves. The white marble reflected sunlight well, brightening the streets and throngs of people.

"You said that most of the people living here in New Rome are veterans of the legion?" Perseus asked, relieving them of the silence on the table. He looked into Reyna's eyes, suppressing a grin at the way she strained to maintain contact with his own.

The centurion nodded. "Yes. After ten years of service in the legion, any legionnaire may retire and move into the city of New Rome as a reserve. Here, they can study at our university, or find a job, be it menial or as a civil servant. I would argue that _this_ is the safest place for any demigod to live, grow old, enjoy what life has to offer other than pain and loneliness."

"The outside world isn't kind to us, huh?"

"Not in the slightest."

Perseus leaned forward. "Do you plan on staying here after your ten years? You seem to be really fond of Camp Jupiter as a whole."

"Camp Jupiter is home," Reyna stated coolly, narrowing her eyes at him. "I defend my home against anything and everything that would try and take it from me."

A lull in the conversation broke when the waiter returned with their food and drink.

Moving a hand to his mouth, the demi-titan recalled that he'd left Impetus with Terminus at the city limits. When he and Reyna had approached the statue, Terminus immediately began to demand that he surrender the toothpick. While a bit frustrating, Perseus had complied. After all, it wouldn't do him any good to argue against a Roman god, especially not when he needed people to support him when the time came. Playing his cards right would eventually give him what he wanted… or at least he hoped as much.

Perseus took a sip of his chocolate, chasing it with a bite from his bagel. Both items were delicious, which explained why his companion ordered as she had.

They ate in silence, though Reyna seemed to lower her guard when she did so. Her eyes no longer drifted toward him. They were unfocused, roaming across the streets, the sidewalks, the faces of adults, teenagers, and children alike. From her stare alone, Perseus could see the weakness she held, bright as the marble that made the city.

It was unfortunate, then, that he knew using that against her would prove tiresome indeed. He wanted to sigh and hang his head in defeat, even if there were still plenty of options available. If he wanted her trust, then saving the entirety of Camp Jupiter would be required.

Such would be the fastest route to earning not only her trust, but her loyalty and reverence as well. However, unless an army of monsters led their forces to attack the camp, he'd need to use the tried and true method instead.

Assisting her in some other way.

If he could prove himself responsible and able to help her, that would also work; even be it at a far slower rate than his preferred option.

Perseus took a drag from his drink. He would need to start soon, or he might end up losing out on good opportunities.

"You seem to be threatening me," the young man stated, licking his lips of the sweetness that still lingered. "I can tell that you really don't like me, Reyna, though I can't say why. As your underling, I would think that it would be better for us to get along, instead of being at one another's throats whenever we talk."

Reyna turned back to look at him, her brow furrowing as the words processed in her mind. "It's not that I don't like you. We haven't known one another long enough for me to form that sort of opinion. I just don't trust you in any shape or form."

' _Ah, and there it is.'_

Swallowing more of his hot chocolate, he gave her a half-smile. "Most people don't trust a newcomer in any situation. That being said, most people also don't go out of their way to show almost blatant hostility."

He opened his palms and gestured at the streets. "I don't want to hurt anybody here, nor do I want to destroy what New Rome is and will always be. I haven't come to ruin the city, ransack your traditions, or raze your ideologies. I haven't come as an enemy to be fought. So it's just so _strange_ that you haven't even called me by my name. That you've opted to basically tell me that you didn't want to be the one touring me around camp."

The centurion paused and frowned at him. "You're very perceptive. Everything you accused me of is true, of course, but in my position it's also warranted.

You aren't a normal recruit, therefore I'm not going to treat you like one. Perseus Jackson, you are a danger to me, to my fellow centurion, and to everybody else living in Camp Jupiter. I can tell from the way you talk, the way you walk, the way you breathe, and the way you look at things. Until you give me a good reason, I won't trust you, but that has nothing to do with me disliking you."

With a soft laugh, Perseus shook his head and scratched at his eyebrow. "It doesn't? Really? Well, who am I to argue with my officer. I'd like to try something else, though. Instead of attacking each other with words, why don't we try to build something new, eh?"

Reyna stared at him with intensity. In a way, it reminded him of Lupa. It was almost like she was trying to read his mind and burn a hole into his brain at the same time. The connection between the two only further entertained him.

"What do you mean?" She asked, finally breaking her stare. He realized that her eyes hadn't been on his own, but instead a few inches higher.

' _Can't look me in the eyes, Reyna? How disappointing. I'll build you into that queen you were meant to be yet. All you have to do… is trust in me.'_

A fragment of a plan began to come together in his mind, like several scraps of paper layering to form a larger image.

Jason would be the king. He was the only son of Jupiter, one of the most important gods in Rome. Jupiter was the king of the gods, which would make Jason a prince in some ways. Reyna would be the queen. They worked well together, she and Jason. She was the only daughter of Bellona at camp and, if what he had heard from his bunkmates last night was true, one of the best warriors in camp. The Fifth respected her greatly, as did many people in Camp Jupiter.

He still needed more information about the praetorship and how it worked, though. His roommates hadn't been able to go into much depth, which was disappointing, but not insurmountable.

The goal was fairly simple. Get Reyna and Jason the praetorship. If he helped them do that, not only would they hopefully trust him, but their honor would lead them to help _him_ when he needed it. Along the way, the other centurions would need to fall in line with him as well, though they were less important to his plan.

' _They'll need opponents, though. If they were favored from the start, they wouldn't need me to help them, to raise them up. I have to be useful to them. Michael Kahale is centurion of the first. Surely he'll have some supporters. Octavian is augur, he might want the praetorship as well. They're in the same cohort, so if one tries for praetor, the other will be more inclined to do so as well. Maybe I can convince them to work together, support them from the shadows, bolster their claims to rival Jason and Reyna. In the end, I bring them down, or find some way to elevate my king and queen. If I play the game just right, I might even get four important officials in my pocket with one fell swoop. So much work to be done, and only a couple of months to do it in.'_

Perseus realized that he'd been silent for too long. He broke from his thoughts and re-focused on Reyna, who was expecting an answer for her question.

"What I mean is that we shouldn't be seen fighting all the time," he replied smoothly. "I was hoping we could get to know one another. We can trade a bit of personal information, as a show of faith."

Reyna was slow to nod, but did so nonetheless. "Fine, that would be for the best… I suppose."

"Great, why don't you start with a question, and I'll follow," the demi-titan offered with a smile.

"How did you get here?" Reyna asked, wasting no time in thinking.

"I started at the Wolf House, with Lupa. I was trained there for five weeks or so, then I came down here. On the way, I met with the Nemean Lion, fought it, tamed it, then rode it into camp just like you saw. Nothing too fancy," Perseus explained. He leaned forward. "My turn. Where are you from? Were you born here-"

"Puerto Rico." Her answer was succinct. It was clear that she didn't want to touch on the subject anymore. "Who's your godly parent?"

Perseus tensed the muscles in his jaw and gripped the edge of the table a little. A sign of anger and bitterness that was barely being restrained. Easy to use in any situation, really. "Who knows? My Mom, maybe, but if she does, she's never told me. I have two hints. My spear and necklace."

Reyna must have sensed the discomfort he tried to show, immediately pursing her lips and softening her features. "Sorry for asking. It's just… the way you killed the lion… well…"

"You thought I might be a son of Jupiter?" Perseus finished.

She nodded, looking only slightly embarrassed. "I shouldn't have assumed that, though. Normally, we get claimed at the Wolf House, right before leaving to come here. If someone isn't claimed there, then they get claimed here, once their godly parent finds their worth."

The son of Iapetus snorted. "That's a pretty shit way to look at things. They only claim us if we prove useful to them in some way. If not… then we get to drive ourselves insane wondering day in and day out. How magnanimous."

"In a way… I agree," Reyna conceded with a sigh. "In your case, though, it doesn't make a lot of sense. Jupiter would have claimed you at the Wolf House, no doubt. _Any_ god should have done so after you killed the Nemean Lion here in our very borders. That's more than enough to show your mettle. The spear would make me think Mars… or even Bellona…"

Perseus quirked an eyebrow at her suggestions. "But…?"

"It just doesn't make sense for either of them to ignore you after killing the lion. Both of them are warriors first and foremost. Proving yourself by strangling a monster of that stature would've caught their attention without a doubt," she said. An apologetic shrug heaved her shoulders up and down.

"Gotcha… my turn I guess. How long have you lived here?"

In response, Reyna revealed the inside of her forearm. There, a tattoo of a crossed sword and torch was proudly displayed, three vertical stripes placed just underneath. "I came to Camp Jupiter in August of 2006. Technically, I've only lived here for two years and eight months, but I earned my first stripe a month after arriving. Each stripe after the first just represents another year of service from the time you arrive."

"Right, so if you hadn't done a proper deed before your first year was up…"

"I would only have two stripes, yes," she said with a nod. Neither of them spoke as Reyna seemed to struggle with finding another question to ask.

Perseus sat quietly, sipping on his drink, watching the daughter of Bellona closely. He took in her light, tawny-brown complexion, warm undertones of ochre hinted at. Her face was somewhat narrow, with a clean jawline and poignant cheekbones that helped give her certain traces of regality. She was quite pretty, the more he thought about her.

' _A queen not just in name, then.'_

"Can I ask about your weapon?" Reyna finally blurted out, apparently done with her formal interrogation. She cleared her throat and regained her composure, not meeting his eye when she did so. "What I meant to say was… your weapon… a Bohemian earspoon, right?"

Pleasant surprise captured Perseus' attention when the centurion correctly identified his weapon. "It is, yeah. How did you know that?'

The girl quirked her eyebrow. "Daughter of Bellona. Weapons and warfare are my specialties. My initial thought was that it was a lugged spear. But the wings were narrow and too long. My second guess was a boar spear, which was closer, obviously, but still off the mark. Again, the wings tipped me off."

Giving a small smile, the demi-titan nodded along with her explanation. "Well, you followed the breadcrumbs back to the source and it worked out for you. Impetus was the second gift my father―whoever that may be―gave to me. All in all, not a bad one, that's for sure."

"Impetus?"

"Oh, it means impulse, momentum of a body, or the force that makes something happen. I'm sure it sounds pretentious on paper-"

Reyna shook her head. "It's fitting, actually. The weapon looks like it'd be a bit top-heavy, so the momentum from each of your swings carries over, driving the force of your strikes into whatever is in front of you. Still, it's an unusual weapon for Romans to use. We have certain amounts of uniformity we like to establish within our ranks. Our spears mostly consist of pilums, as was implemented during the Republic, before our imperial status."

"I can make do with that as well," Perseus stated immediately, confident in his ability to use any spear-like weapon. In fact, he might even go as far to say most weapons wouldn't prove to be difficult to use for him. After all, his father was the 'Weapon of the Titans'.

"You sound confident," Reyna noted.

"I like to think I'm good with sharp things. I guess you could say I'm pretty edgy in that way."

Reyna closed her eyes and thinned her lips. A small twitch at the corner of her mouth was the only indication that Perseus' bad pun affected her at all. Even so, he considered the reaction to be an improvement. He marveled at the effects that a little sob story could have on even the most distrusting individuals.

"Well," the centurion pushed herself off the metal seat and stood up. "We still have more of the city to explore. After that, I promised Jason to bring you to the Field of Mars so you could train with the Fifth."

Walking to a garbage can, she tossed her empty cup away, waiting for Perseus to follow her lead. She looked expectantly at the son of Iapetus, though he remained seated, drumming his fingers on the wooden table.

Perseus downed the rest of his drink quickly and gave his officer a dry smile. "One last question. Why did you come here?"

Reyna frowned. Her irritation was almost visible as she bristled a little, her eyes drifting to the paved street. "I get one more question after this answer."

The young man said nothing, only nodding his head in acquiescence to her terms. He really had no problems giving her half-truths or blatant lies, especially if it meant getting some form of valuable information in return. The way her face twisted only served to further his curiosity; both of what she would answer with and what she would ask of him.

Letting loose a long sigh, Reyna wrenched her vision away from the street and glared at Perseus. He was almost certain, though, that her disgruntlement was not directed his way. Instead, it almost felt like her stare went beyond him, moving through and around his body instead of stopping at it.

"My old home was destroyed… ransacked by pirates. I learned how to defend myself from them, though I didn't stay for long, obviously. Instead, I found my way here, to California." The bitterness in her tone was far too announced, even if it _was_ genuine. Doubtless that she hated what happened to her former home. It showed easily enough, after all. Her composure was practically gone, scattered like dust in the wind.

"...I'm sorry to hear that," Perseus acknowledged, dropping his head a few centimeters to give his token condolence.

"They all are," Reyna ground out. "My turn. Those scars, how'd you get them?"

Crushing the paper cup in one hand, Perseus tossed it at the garbage, missing by a few inches. He raised his eyes to meet Reyna's, only to feel a twinge of disappointment when she refused to reciprocate.

"Which?"

"All of them."

He nodded and pointed at his arm. "Chimera attacked me over a month ago. My first monster kill." The two long lines had scabbed over and were on their way to healing well. With the help of Lupa, he'd taken the sutures out of his arm, letting his biology do the rest.

"The smaller scratches are either from Lupa, a few Hellhounds that attacked me while I was training with her, or empousai."

He paused and absentmindedly rubbed the final two scars on his body. The first two that he'd ever received, from a different kind of enemy. Those scars were reminders of the closest dance with death he'd ever entertained.

The others didn't bother him nearly as much as the two, quarter shaped scars under his right pectoral. It didn't surprise him, though, that Reyna was specifically asking about those.

"The last two, on my sixth rib, right-hand side. Some thug who thought a fifteen-year-old kid would have enough money to score whatever he was hooked on," Perseus chuckled, tapping at his scars a couple of times. "When I told him I didn't have cash, he tried to take my necklace. Of course, that wasn't gonna happen. In the end, I caught two bullets for being a dumbass and trying to wrestle the gun out of his hand."

Reyna's surprise was evident by the way her eyebrows rose and her eyes widened. She floundered for a bit, evidently unable to find a response to what Perseus had told her.

"That's…"

"Not what you were expecting?" Perseus asked lightly.

"No… no, it wasn't. I guess mortals can be monsters in their own ways."

Smoothing his shirt, Perseus nodded and stood up. While he didn't particularly like those scars, they attested to his survival. Besides, the man who'd given them to him was long dead. The memory of his first _rending_ still replayed vividly in his mind.

Right after the two bullets ripped into his body, Perseus had been filled with more anger and fear than ever before or since. He had torn the man in two, split from head to groin. If not for a random passerby, Perseus would have probably died on the street, never being able to reach home one last time.

Shifting out of his morbid musings, he pushed his chair back in place. Thinking of the past and what _could_ have happened wouldn't do him any good. Not when he lived in the present. He had goals to accomplish. A game to play, to win.

"Ready to go?" He asked Reyna.

"Yes, let's keep moving." She turned waited until he stood next to her before moving on with the tour. The centurion seemed a bit more talkative after their quick meal, pointing out certain shops that could give him clothing and materials he may need during his stay in Camp Jupiter. Perseus chuckled to himself, having set the board in his favor sooner than he'd anticipated.

Gaea was playing her own version of a game if what she said was true. He was part of her game, a pawn, apparently. Such a position wasn't fit for one such as himself, though. He played his own game, which would eventually intersect with Gaea's. Only one of them would win, and, for whatever it was worth, Perseus didn't like losing to old women.

* * *

 **A/N: To those who follow BotC, I actually scrapped the original Ch. 19 and started basically from nothing. I wasn't satisfied with the quality at all, so I'm taking the time to bring it up to my standard.**

 **Too much thinking about the canon timeline went into this. I suppose that since I'm making the Titan War happen in August of 2009, then Sea of Monsters should have happened in 2007, and C.C.'s Spa and Resort was destroyed around that time. To that, I say, 'nay'. I'm messing with the dates a tad, since there wasn't anything definitive in the first place, according to Rick. Fanfiction privilege and all that jazz.**


	5. Amalgabominations and Patchwork Horrors

**A/N: Nothing here.**

 ** _Review Response: ConnorPerson- A magician's life might be interesting._**

 ** _Tufian- Thanks for the feeback._**

 ** _Death Fury- Your kind words are always appreciated._**

 ** _divineboss2000- I try to make the chapters about as dank as I possibly can for my audience. Thanks._**

 ** _Amics- Thank you._**

 ** _Some dood- Guess schools should start looking at Fanfiction to help students learn these days._**

 ** _Guest#1- Well, this came out pretty fast. Glad you like it so far._**

 ** _Guest#2-Thanks, I'll do my best._**

 **Disclaimer: I do not make any money off this work of fanfiction. All rights for the characters in Percy Jackson and the Olympians and Heroes of Olympus go to Rick Riordan and all who were involved in the creation of the novels.**

* * *

5\. Amalgabominations and Patchwork Horrors

* * *

Jason placed his hands behind his back, walking down the line as his soldiers practice their stabbing motions. The Fifth was smaller than every other cohort in the legion, having only twenty-eight members when one added both Reyna and him into the count. The lack of bodies could mainly be attributed to the Labyrinthine Invasion of July 2008.

The years leading to the battle had proven that the Titans were returning. Many quests were undertaken directly through the authority of the gods; quests that were solely to sabotage the Titan army before major conflicts arose. Jason himself had been on three of those missions, fighting great monsters and rogue minor gods alike.

Last summer, the existence of Daedalus' Labyrinth was made known to the legion by Lord Mars. He claimed it was one of the final vestiges left by Greek influence on the modern world. Even though Jason was somewhat doubtful of Lord Mars' claims, he'd said nothing. Most Roman campers disliked anything Greek almost instinctively. It would have been fairly unpopular to try and say anything against the god.

An incursion party was formed under Lord Mars' orders to infiltrate the Labyrinth and destroy it somehow. The only hint given to them was that Daedalus himself was tied to the massive underground structure in some way.

If the Romans could find him, then they might have been able to do something about the Labyrinth. Jason had gone, along with Hank Tibbet and Gwendolyn Fields—even though Hank wasn't in his cohort. The three of them went into the Labyrinth via a small entry tunnel in the basin's northern hills. Nobody knew how the entrance to a Greek construct had gotten into Camp Jupiter's borders, making the entire legion quite uneasy.

Adding injury to insult, the expedition had failed in finding anything worthwhile down in the bowels of Daedalus' monolithic creation. He and his companions spent days trying to find a good way to navigate the winding corridors and wide open caverns, all to no avail.

During their journey, Saturn had apparently been revived. Jason, Gwen, and Hank had only learned of the event because of a few monsters who'd been wandering the Labyrinth talking openly about joining the Titan army. They'd also overheard a plan to attack New Rome under Saturn's direct orders.

The trio had found their way back to Camp Jupiter eventually, explaining what they saw down in the Labyrinth. After that, preparations had been made for a full-scale invasion. Even with the legion on full alert, the monster attack took them by surprise. They came in massive swarms out of the Labyrinth, intent on killing any demigod in their way.

Too many good people—too many _friends_ —died that day. Jason could still hear the screams of his comrades as they died. That was the first time he saw the true brutality of war. Or maybe there was still worse out there, waiting to be uncovered by his eyes, promising to scar him even more.

When the fighting ended and he took a count of those in the Fifth Cohort, the realization weighed on his shoulders heavier than he could have imagined. Fourteen legionnaires under his command had been killed, each of them having served well, deserving more than death at the hands of monsters.

Heaving a sigh, Jason continued inspecting his cohort while they practiced.

The Field of Mars was occupied by the Fifth and the Second, though the groups stayed fairly far from one another.

Victor was running half of his soldiers through a bit of physical conditioning exercises while his co-centurion, Lyle, took the other half and tested them on formation memorization. The Second was definitely in good hands with Victor and Lyle running it, no doubt. Both were sons of Lord Apollo and, though they were good with the bow, had worked hard to become more than competent with spears and swords. Lyle had gotten the gift of healing from his father, whereas Victor could cause minor illnesses. They weren't the most powerful legionnaires but they were valuable nonetheless.

Turning away from the Second, Jason saw his best friend walking toward him. Just behind her, Perseus Jackson strolled along, silver toothpick hanging idly between his teeth. A positively predatory grin split his face for a moment, before it vanished almost instantly. His eyes still twisted with mad glee, though, when he saw the cohort training for a fight.

"Hey, Reyna," Jason gave a small smile. When he looked at Perseus, the smile slipped. "Perseus, good to see you. We missed you at breakfast."

The other boy shrugged helplessly, looking only slightly apologetic for the faux pas. "Yeah, sorry about that. I wasn't told or anything, so I got up a bit early to wander before taking a bath. Won't happen again, Jersey."

"Jason."

"Mhm, sure, sure. So, what're we doing? Looks… well, it looks kinda tedious now that I'm closer."

Reyna and Jason shared a glance. His friend only gave an exasperated shake of her head. The son of Jupiter gestured back to the row of campers thrusting their swords. "We're practicing the proper stab. Our scuta are large and cover most of our front body, meaning we can easily defend and attack almost simultaneously by stabbing with a gladius. We use this type of fighting in almost all of our drills and any real conflicts."

Looking back at his legionnaires, Jason felt a tinge of sadness at seeing the diminished numbers. His cohort had lost the most members out of any in the legion. His co-centurion and good friend, Killian, also died during the invasion. In a way, Jason felt responsible for the deaths of his soldiers.

They were his to command. When he became centurion of the Fifth, their lives were placed in his hands to do with as he saw fit. For him, a good leader needed to be willing to fight for their soldiers, and vice-versa, for battles to be won. Soldiers responded well when they were under the impression that their leaders cared for them, and that what they fought for was worth their loyalty.

Why anybody had stayed under his command when the invasion ended was beyond him. How they still trusted him to lead them properly was a question that ate away at his conscience for more nights than he could count. If any of his legionnaires had asked to be transferred to another cohort after the battle, he'd have approved wholeheartedly, ensuring they had a place to go that wasn't the Fifth. For whatever reason, though, nobody came to him with that request.

Instead, the collective consensus of the cohort was for more training and higher standards. They _wanted_ to become stronger both as individuals _and_ as a unit. The Labyrinthine Invasion was a wake-up call to them, imparting unto them the knowledge that war was all hell. Jason doubted _anybody_ from _any_ cohort held any more illusions of what they would face when Saturn decided to attack personally.

Without the gods, Camp Jupiter would be crushed, that much felt for certain. Jason could feel the tension in the air as of recent days, hanging like a guillotine above the neck of each and every soldier. The citizens of New Rome were also less lively than normal, although the legion had done its best to assure the civilians that they would be safe from harm.

Jason doubted they could keep promises like that, though. If they were to be attacked again at that very moment, he wasn't sure they would win.

Plainly speaking, Camp Jupiter needed more bodies. It needed people that could fight and kill hundreds of monsters on their own.

When Jason looked at Perseus, he grudgingly admitted that the mysterious newcomer was indeed what they needed.

"What do you want me to do for now?" Perseus queried, motioning to the line of practicing campers.

Jason rubbed his chin in thought.

Truthfully, the other boy irked him for some reason. When Perseus had said he was willing to climb the ranks as a normal legionnaire would, it had impressed Jason, if only a little. It proved dedication and a willingness to work hard at accomplishments; both of which were good traits for any person in the Twelfth Legion.

Even so, there was an odd sense of wanting to constantly slam his fist into Perseus' face.

' _I mean… he just looks so punchable...'_

The desire to attack was almost instinctive, as if the two of them shared a long history of rivalry and bitterness toward one another. Jason was almost sure that Perseus felt the same way. Surely, he couldn't have forgotten his name _twice_ in such a short amount of time. It must have been on purpose, calling him something completely ridiculous like _Jersey_ or _Jincy_.

Glancing at Reyna, he gestured with his head to the side. She nodded and walked with him several feet away, where they could talk in relative privacy.

"How'd the tour go?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He was a few inches taller than his fellow officer, but she always seemed to demand more presence in spirit than in physicality. Reyna was perhaps the most intimidating girl he'd ever met.

With a shrug, she went on to explain what they had done during their time together.

"So he doesn't know who his father is?"

Reyna shook her head negatively. "No, he doesn't. It's too bad for us since, usually, a demigod becomes more powerful once they are claimed. Once they actually know their abilities, it's less of an uphill struggle to assign them a good role. Perseus… well… for now, I suppose he'll just have to be a front-line body for us to use."

"You believe him then?" Jason raised an eyebrow.

"I do," Reyna replied firmly, her jaw tensing up slightly. "I could see it in his face and hear it in his voice. It _really_ bothers him that his father hasn't claimed him; let alone acknowledge his existence. He tries to hide it, but he let it slip through the cracks when we were talking. He's resentful and angry on the inside."

"Which can make him a huge liability in a war zone. People like that get their friends and comrades killed in battle, Reyna. You and I both know that each battle shouldn't be dictated by emotions. All that does is hurt our chances of winning."

The girl nodded tentatively. Her eyes were troubled, shooting discrete glances at Perseus, who was twirling the toothpick between his fingers with practiced ease. Jason wondered how the newcomer had managed to affect his best friend so much in such a short amount of time. They hadn't spent more than a single afternoon together and already Reyna was warming to Perseus.

It wasn't a very obvious thing. Her words of defense for the boy along with her conflicted gaze were enough to tip Jason off, though. He'd known her long enough to understand that even through her stern outwards displays, Reyna was wont to protect those inside of her home. The legion was like a family to her. For her to already view Perseus as part of that family was interesting and troubling in equal parts.

"He'll be fine… I think..." Reyna found her voice, though there was uncertainty laced in every undertone. "He almost reminds me of myself when I first came to camp, except for the jokes and arrogance. He doesn't know what he wants to do. He's a little lost, just like I was."

Jason recalled the old Reyna quite well. She was troubled from her past, rarely able to open up to people. It was something that still attributed to her personality, even after years in the legion. She didn't have many friends that he knew of, though the ones she did have were fiercely loyal to her, as she was to them.

He was one of them, which always managed to bring a small smile to his face when he thought about it.

"Do you think he might turn out like you one day?" He was curious to know if she felt some kind of kinship with Perseus, leading to her unusually receptive behavior.

"Maybe. I can't say for sure but I still think it's worth a try to encourage him in a positive way. We both saw how he beat the Nemean Lion in single combat. Even for you or I, it would have been difficult. The difference between us and him, though, is that we're trained soldiers of the Twelfth Legion. We know our strengths and weaknesses and have certain powers at our disposal. _He didn't_. That was him at his most vulnerable. Can you imagine him in a few months? A year?"

"I don't know if I want to imagine that," Jason muttered dryly. It was obvious Perseus was a natural-born killer. With a bit of tactical knowledge and some refinement to his talent… there would be almost no stopping him.

The idea both terrified Jason and gave him hope.

Reyna gave sign that she felt similar to him in that moment. Her eyes once more became clouded and tired. She thinned her lips disparagingly. "I wouldn't be surprised if he becomes invaluable to the war effort, despite having just gotten here."

Once again, Jason felt the monstrous weight of his position bear down on him. The war was still ongoing, although no more battles had been fought. Just thinking about it gave him a minor headache.

As much as he was uncomfortable around Perseus, he didn't want to burden the guy with too much responsibility so early into his military tenure.

"If that's the case, then we should get him ready for what's coming," Jason intoned wearily.

He turned away from his friend and addressed his soldiers directly, letting his booming voice roll across the field. "Fifth Cohort! We're taking thirty minutes for lunch! Get your food and then get ready for paired combat practice! I want everybody back in line, standing at attention with their scutum and gladius by the time lunch is over!"

The cohort sheathed their weapons in unison and saluted to the orders. "Euax!" _Yes!_

From there, they broke into smaller groups, making their way to the edge of the Field of Mars where their equipment lay. It was necessary for the legionnaires to bring their own food to practice so they could keep stamina high.

Perseus walked over to where Reyna and Jason were standing. He ran a hand through one side of his twin-toned hair, mussing it even more than it had been previously. The green irides that raged with shackled iniquity wandered the area, scanning everything in sight with intense scrutiny.

Jason wondered if Perseus ever stopped to enjoy life, to take in what the world and that which resided on it could offer him. Even as a centurion, Jason was able to relax and take it easy when the time called for it. True, the deaths of his soldiers haunted him, but he knew that none of them would blame him. He doubted any of them wanted him to torment himself.

That reasoning was probably the only thing that stopped Jason from wallowing in self-loathing and pity day in and day out. Nobody in camp thought any less of him for the losses of the Fifth—that he knew of, at least. Of course, he didn't need to convince them, only himself, that he wasn't the one to blame. As long as he could get up each morning, as long as he could still command his cohort, then all was well. He still had a duty to the living, which meant never allowing himself to falter in moving forward.

' _Saturn will pay for those his army killed. For each drop of legion blood that his monsters spilled, I'll spill some of his own.'_

Perseus stopped in front of him and snapped his fingers. "You okay there, Jarvis? Don't get all glaze-eyed on me now."

Jason didn't want to react, however, nothing could stop the frown that formed on his face at hearing another mispronunciation of his name. He quickly regained is composure. Unfortunately, Perseus' frighteningly high level of observance caught his expression.

The other boy only gave a small smirk.

"I'll get you a sword and shield. Since you already ate with Reyna, take the time to get a feel for the weight and dimensions of your equipment," Jason said.

Perseus saluted. "Aye, aye, captain!"

Turning around so as to not give Perseus the satisfaction of a reaction, Jason moved to get away from the newcomer. He wasn't sure how the other teen was so good at riling him up, but Jason was sure if they were stuck in a room together, one of them would kill the other in no time flat.

' _He'll be the death of me, I just know it.'_

 **[AaMT]**

Studying the gladius and scutum he'd been given, Perseus immediately knew he would hate using them in combination.

Every fiber of his being screamed at him that he wasn't _meant_ to defend like the Romans did.

 _Attack! Attack! Attack!_

 _Pierce! Pierce! Pierce!_

 _Rend! Rend! Rend!_

Hiding behind a shield wasn't the way he wanted to fight. He didn't rightfully care that it was effective, or that it had worked for the old Roman legions over the course of multiple centuries. There was no way he could accept using a shield for defense. It almost physically sickened him to even think about.

Tearing his eyes off the offending object, he observed the person who'd volunteered to be his combat partner. The boy—Obloong, or some similarly ridiculous name—flinched when Perseus' eyes fell on him. The other boy was thin, with glossy black hair and light brown eyes. His face was gaunt, with shallow cheeks that made him look a bit unhealthy.

Around them, people were already sparring against one another. The sound of metal meeting metal sang discordantly where the Fifth practiced.

"Alright Oakley," Perseus started. "Between you and me, I don't wanna use the shield. So how about you just come at me without holding back, and don't worry about hurting me."

"Uh, my name's Olliver, actually..."

"Good to know. Now, are we gonna fight or talk? I'm down with both, but I think Reyna and Jason might be watching to make sure things go the way they want," Perseus replied, cracking his neck a few times.

Olliver nodded and crouched down a bit, lowering his shield so that it covered most of his body. Perseus had already been given a quick rundown on how to use the shield and sword in conjunction with one another. He'd also been told how it was customary to move with the scutum raised when advancing on an enemy.

Weighing the gladius in his hand, Perseus decided there was no problem with him using a sword. Even though he'd never handled one before in his life, he felt confident in using it to similar effect as a polearm.

While he would have preferred a spear-like weapon, he figured a sword could come in close second for ease of use. The shield, however, bothered him an almost laughable amount. Instead of keeping it, he tossed it aside, where it hit the ground with a dull thud.

Olliver was within arms reach when Perseus made his first move. He raised his leg and gave a hard straight kick, planting the bottom of his foot into Olliver's scutum. The other soldier was sent staggering back, his arm being knocked away from the front of his body.

Capitalizing on the opening, Perseus stepped forward and drove the pommel of his sword into Olliver's stomach. He watched as his foe fell to his knees, dropping his shield and sword in favor of covering his mouth, trying to hold in the contents of his lunch.

"Perseus."

Turning to see who'd called his name, he saw Jason shaking his head disapprovingly. A tinge of annoyance flashed through him at seeing the gesture. Perseus didn't really enjoy being around Jason for extended periods of time. Or rather, _any_ amount of time. Something about the son of Jupiter irked him to an extreme. In fact, it was the only reason he went out of his way to intentionally provoke the centurion.

Behind him, Perseus heard Olliver vomiting.

"I do something wrong?"

Jason motioned to the discarded shield that lay a few feet from his position. "Not fond of using the shield?"

"Not particularly. It's cumbersome, too big to move efficiently with. I know that it's a staple of Roman military might, but something doesn't feel right when I use a shield. Instinct, I guess," Perseus said with a shrug. The truth was easy to tell and not revealing in the slightest.

For a few seconds, his centurion seemed to be deep in thought. Then, with a nod, Jason walked over to Olliver and pat him on the back.

"Go get some water and take a few minutes to calm down," he said.

Olliver gave his thanks and left hurriedly, still looking the worse for wear. Once the injured boy was gone, Jason stooped low and grabbed the scutum that Perseus had discarded. He studied it blandly, running his fingers along the top of the wood.

"I don't really like using these either," he admitted with a chuckle. "Still, I forced myself to get used to it, just so that I could fit in with the main body of the legion. That being said, not everybody has to be the body."

"Auxiliaries. I know a bit about them," Perseus replied with a yawn. He scratched the back of his head. "Lupa had a feeling that I wouldn't be very attuned to fighting in the typical way. She warned me that my fighting style might make me a candidate for joining the Auxilia."

Jason nodded thoughtfully. "Well, Lupa's been sending the Twelfth recruits for centuries. She's seen all types of people in her time doing this. If she recommended for you to be an auxiliary then I'm in no position to argue with her."

Perseus shrugged. According to Lupa, in the old Roman Empire, the Auxilia was made up of non-citizen soldiers, usually filling the role of cavalry or skirmishers. They were used as a slightly more specialized force, in order to add diversity to the army's general composition for multi-purpose use.

In the modern legion, the Auxilia had a similar purpose. Unlike in ancient times, however, the auxiliary forces were not only fairly unpopular, however, they also constituted only a fraction of the total legion forces.

The problem with joining the auxiliary forces never left Perseus' mind. Since it wasn't exactly a respected group, it could hinder his attempts at gaining renown and trust in the legion.

"Can you tell me a bit more about the group?" Perseus asked. He didn't have enough information, especially regarding their numbers and current status. If it looked to be a fully lost cause, there was no way in Hell he'd take the chance.

Jason sighed and scratched at his chin. "The Auxilia, as it stands now, is in a pretty bad way. Michael Varus, praetor from back in the 1980's, led an expeditionary force up to Alaska following a prophecy. Along with him, he took two-thirds of the Auxilia with him and a good chunk of the Fifth Cohort."

Perseus could tell that the result wasn't pleasant. "So what happened?"

"Most of them died up there. Those that came back were crazy. None of them could stutter out a cohesive statement apparently. They even lost our standard in the frozen wastes," the son of Jupiter responded tiredly. "Since then, both the Auxilia and the Fifth have basically been dead in the water. People in the legion just don't respect us like they used to, think that we're cursed. Hell, the auxiliary forces were never exactly held in high regard… but after the expedition… well, it's a place to stagnate in terms of political power and military recognition."

"All this because one guy made a bad call?"

"That's just the way it is. It doesn't sound fair; and really, it probably isn't, but we Romans see unity in battle. Even if we don't know what happened in Alaska, it doesn't change the fact that the missions failed horribly."

Perseus cocked an eyebrow in response. He supposed in a way, it made sense. That being said, he didn't think it was prudent to bias new generations of legionnaires against the Fifth and the Auxilia because of what happened twenty odd years ago. If anything, it would only prove to divide the legion and create elitism in a culture that stressed unified fronts.

"How many people?" He asked.

Jason smiled wryly. "Only fifteen. All of those basically make up the majority of our archery force. Nobody really wants to join the Auxilia. Sometimes, though, it's just unavoidable that a few end up in there."

Mulling over his options, Perseus took a few seconds to consider the best route. "Well, archery isn't something that really calls to me either. If I were to join, what would be my role?"

The centurion twisted his lip a little. He looked at the sky and held a few fingers over his mouth. "Well… honestly, you look like you've got natural fighting talent. Typical auxiliaries are recruits who aren't very good at close quarters combat. It would be a little strange for you to be the only one with them who used a sword as your primary weapon. I'll give it to you straight, Perseus, I think you'd do better with us in the main force than with the auxiliaries."

"You're probably right," Perseus replied. "Still, the shield is..."

Jason waved off the comment. "We can work around that. If you work as a forward attacker, maybe… or even a flanking individual. Both of these roles would put you in a _lot_ of danger on the battlefield though… and there really isn't precedent for single warriors being used in this way. That being said, we aren't in ancient times anymore, and I've learned that even a single person can turn the tide of battle if they're cunning, zealous, and powerful enough."

"I could probably check those boxes off. I guess Lupa was wrong on this one, huh?" Perseus asked with a small smile, hoping that he'd drawn the conscience of his wolf trainer by invoking her name. Next time they met, he was sure she would be glaring at him as best she could. "Not really too surprising. I think she has problems relating to normal people these days."

Jason looked around nervously. "Uh… maybe you shouldn't-"

"Of course, it makes sense," Perseus continued, ignoring the wide-eyed stare from his centurion. "She's… what? Over several thousand years old by now. In dog years, that's gotta be tough for her to handle. Do you think dementia sets in for dogs and the like? Then again, I don't know that I could blame her. We all go a little mad sometimes. Pyscho, 1960."

Neither of them spoke for several seconds, with Jason scanning the Field of Mars constantly, like he was waiting for something to come and thrust divine judgment down on the pair. When it became clear that nothing was going to happen, he turned back to face Perseus.

"Do you _want_ to die?" His voice was tight and filled with constrained worry. "Look, I don't know what you have against life, but can you not trash-talk a goddess when I'm right next to you."

Chuckling, Perseus moved back and twirled the gladius around in his hand. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind. Still, Lupa and I are pretty good friends. Once, there was this itch on her back that she just couldn't get to, so she asked-"

A long, piercing howl interrupted the rest of Perseus' story, carrying across the Field of Mars and rolling through the rest of the basin unimpeded. The noise carried with it a tremendous pressure, rattling Perseus' bones, boiling his blood, and muddying his brain noticeably.

As suddenly as it had started, the sound was cut, allowing for deafening silence to envelop Camp Jupiter. Everybody was frozen in place, bar Perseus and Jason; the former of which was picking at his ear, while the latter was shaking his head and muttering to himself in Latin.

"We're gonna die," the blond said softly. "We're gonna die, and it's all your fault. What did I do to deserve this? All I ever wanted was to be a good legionnaire. Serve New Rome and the legion. Now, I'm gonna be eaten for associating with a moron who can't shut up."

Scratching at his head, Perseus glanced around as the other campers began talking amongst themselves. "Hm, didn't expect her to actually listen in on what I was saying. Guess she _really_ doesn't want me to tell that particular story."

Surging forward, Jason clamped a hand over his mouth. "Not. Another. Word. Don't say anything else, and let's just keep training, okay?"

Reaching up and pulling the hand away from his face, Perseus smiled widely. "Sounds good to me. I can always tell you about it later anyway. Without naming names, that is."

Jason groaned and palmed his face. "Just go find another partner to practice with. And please, try not to make Lupa mad, will you?"

 **[AaMT]**

The rest of the day passed quickly for Perseus. His training had gone fairly well, or so he'd assume. While he didn't really want to embarrass any of the legionnaires in his cohort, it was difficult to hold back when they just gave him so many openings.

Even with a gladius in his hand, the effect was similar to holding Impetus. His body moved with intent and sharpness. True, it was diminished by a noticeable amount, but there was no denying that when armed with a weapon, Perseus' fighting skill increased tremendously. With that in mind, he figured that fist-fighting would need to become his main focus while at Camp Jupiter.

Should he ever be disarmed, there could be no lack of defense in his fights. When he'd asked Jason and Reyna about it, they told him that hand-to-hand combat was reserved for the weekends.

After swordplay came spear tossing practice. Perseus, of course, had excelled at throwing his pilum with disgusting accuracy and tremendous force. Each time he released another spear, it would launch out of his hand as if being propelled by an unseen variable. Most of the targets were plastic mannequins—courtesy of an abandoned department store in Berkeley, apparently—outfitted with hastily created Imperial gold breastplates.

When Perseus had begun to throw, only Reyna hadn't been surprised by the skill he displayed in that form of warfare. Most legionnaires took several seconds to set up their aim and judge the distance from themselves and the target. In contrast, Perseus had only needed to grab hold of the spears before hurling them into the chest of each mannequin, punching through the armor and plastic in quite the spectacle.

Eventually, the sun began to lazily drift behind the hills, bringing about the end of combat training. From the Field of Mars, the Fifth had marched to the mess hall in a loose column formation for discipline practice. And so it was that Perseus found himself seated on a low-standing couch made of purple dyed wool, snatching a plate full of BLT sandwiches from one of the aurae.

"Thanks," he addressed the air around him, not knowing if his word would be acknowledged. Just as he went to eat his food, a young elfin girl wearing a white silk dress appeared to him. She nodded with a laugh and took off once more, disappearing into the crowd of bodies that stuffed the mess hall.

Food whirled through the air, carried by more of the invisible aurae, making it a challenge to walk around without constantly crouching and ducking. The other cohorts sat and laughed amongst one another, moving tables often to intermingle with their peers. In contrast, the Fifth Cohort was fairly isolated from the other groups, mostly being seated by the kitchens in the far back of the mess hall.

From what Perseus could glean, the mess hall was a veritable treasure trove of idle, mundane, and flirtatious gossip.

If he listened intently enough, Perseus could catch hints of discontent about the lack of proper leadership. Not many people seemed to be talking about the subject, which was unfortunate, since Perseus couldn't get a clear picture of who was popular for the upcoming election. After a while, he stopped listening and focused on his those seated around his table, who were beginning to question him.

"How are you so good at fighting anyway?" One of them asked. He was a fairly bulky guy, with curly hair and awkwardly aligned eyes. His lips were stained red, as were his teeth, from drinking whatever was in his goblet. Perseus recalled his name being Dakota, son of Bacchus, one of his roommates. "I mean, you took down three of our regulars without breaking a freakin' sweat dude!"

"Yeah! For a new recruit, you hit like a ton of bricks!" Olliver said morosely, shaking his head and rubbing his gut. "Didn't even give me a chance to fight. You knocked me out of practice with… two attacks?"

Perseus laughed and shrugged. "I couldn't tell you why. Whenever I have a weapon in my hand, though, it's like the world is filtered to become clearer. Everything is more in focus and my brain is basically on overdrive. I dunno, maybe it's because of who my father is?"

The others at the table nodded their heads.

"That could explain it," one of the girls, Gwendolyn, stated eagerly. "Maybe you're another son of Mars? Or even Bellona! Hey, then Reyna could have a brother here at camp!"

Dakota grinned widely. "A badass, terrifying, totally unbeatable half-brother? She'd never get bullied… though she doesn't really have that problem anyway. Man, that girl is scary."

"I've never seen her fight," Perseus pondered out loud, rubbing his chin. "How is she?"

Gwendolyn shuddered slightly, putting her fork down and ignoring her mashed potatoes. "Reyna is easily one of the best fighters we've got here at Camp Jupiter. She can make mincemeat of anybody she fights. She, Jason, and Michael Kahale are the favorites to win whenever they fight in the coliseum. We'll probably get to see them participate in the upcoming Cerealia."

Perseus coughed into his hand. "Cereal what?"

"Cerealia," the girl repeated slowly. "It's a festival dedicated to Ceres, Goddess of Agriculture, Fertility, Grain. It's my Mom's personal celebration."

"Oh, sorry about that. Didn't mean to offend."

Gwendolyn waved off his apology with a soft smile. "Nah, don't worry too much about it. A lot of people misunderstand when they first hear it. I don't know that Ceres cares to much either. She hasn't come to smite anybody for mispronouncing it... yet."

Nodding, Perseus took a bite of his BLT. "So what about Jason, Reyna, and Michael fighting in the coliseum? You said they're the favorites?"

"That they are," Olliver said waving his hands around. Earlier, Perseus had learned that the boy was a legacy of Mercury, no doubt attributing to the shifty appearance that Olliver carried. "Those three only lose when they have to fight one another. You should have seen the last time that Jason and Michael fought. I mean, Michael is a son of Venus, so you'd think he has trouble with combat..."

Perseus doubted that, considering Michael was centurion of the First. He was a pretty tough looking guy, with thick arms and a face practically made of steel. His skin was a deep tan and he kept his hair cut short, close to the scalp. When it came down to it, Perseus was sure that Michael was a tough opponent, one that he wouldn't mind fighting one day.

Olliver wiped some soup from his lips shook his thin head. "He's scary too, though. Michael fights like a man possessed, I swear. Sometimes, I think Lord Mars secretly gives the guy his blessing to make him invincible on the battlefield. He lost to Jason last time, but not for lack of skill. I mean, Jay had to use his lightning to win."

"So what's the point of fighting in the coliseum?" Perseus asked curiously. He was sure that if he joined the brawls, he could start to gain a bit of renown that way. Perhaps it would be in his best interest to try such an avenue.

Dakota took a deep draft from his goblet, sighing contently when he slammed it back onto the table. "Fame! Glory! Women! Money! All these can be yours… as long as you're willing to risk grievous bodily harm. Or at least that's how it's come to be advertised."

' _Money and fame? Hm, I suppose I could use both of those.'_

The son of Iapetus hummed thoughtfully. "How much money?"

Gwendolyn gave him an odd look. "Depends. There are sanctioned bets in New Rome, and each fighter gets five-percent of whatever was placed on their demonstration. A person can only sign up for five fights maximum in any category. We do monster battles and displays of weapon mastery at least a few times a month. The main draw is, of course, the legionnaire fights. Those don't usually happen until the festivals, so they pull in massive crowds and massive bets at the same time."

"I see."

Dakota leaned over the table, spilling some of his drink. "Whoa, whoa, whoa there newbie. Are you thinking of signing up for the fights?"

Perseus shrugged. "Yeah. I might not be able to win against Jason, Reyna, or Michael, but I can probably do well up until I have to fight them."

"If you fight them," Olliver scoffed. "It's just a crapshoot on who you fight. It's not like a tournament system or anything. If you _do_ end up fighting one of them—and by some miracle, winning—I bet you'd rake in the cash. Not to mention you'd be the talk of the camp for weeks."

"Well, nothing ventured nothing gained, am I right?" Perseus retorted. He quickly finished the rest of his sandwich before taking a sip of his water.

He hadn't heard about the coliseum fights when Reyna toured him around the city. Or rather, he'd heard of them, just not what they implied. If he performed well in the arena, he could not only earn himself a bit of denarii, but he might also earn a bit of recognition and respect.

"So, when's the festival?"

"It starts in a week, April 16th, and lasts for three days. It used to go on for a full week, but in modern culture, we just don't have the time to celebrate it as long as in old Rome. Too bad." Gwendolyn dropped her head a bit and picked at her potatoes.

The four ate in silence for a few minutes. A few of their periphery tablemates left to talk to their own friends elsewhere. Perseus continued to eat one BLT after another, loving that there were seemingly an infinite amount of sandwiches that kept coming his way. They were good, but not quite up to par with his Mom's, of which he was sure had no equal. She always made the best food.

"Is there a group battle by any chance?" Perseus inquired, leaning back into the couch, having satisfied his appetite.

Gwendolyn laughed and slapped her thigh. "Groups of three. You asking us to team up with you or something?"

The graying teen smiled. "Technically, I am. Maybe I'll try one group battle, one solo battle against monsters, then three solo fights against other legion members. That ought to earn me a bit of money and fame."

Perseus hoped that they would accept. When he considered the Fifth, he could see that Gwendolyn and Dakota were good warriors. They also worked fairly well together from his observations during practice. Additionally, both of them would be potential candidates for the centurion positions when Reyna and Jason were made praetors.

If he cultivated a good relationship early, all the better for him. He'd already made a bit of progress with Jason earlier that day. They'd been able to banter a bit with one another, which he took as a good sign.

Overall, from sunrise to sunset, Perseus felt that he'd established good finger holds in Camp Jupiter, though his position could still be classified as precarious. Potential enemies surrounded him on all sides, which left him little room for error in his judgment.

No failure was too small… and no victory too large. Endearing himself to future centurions would be in his best interest.

Dakota and Gwendolyn looked between one another before turning to face Olliver. The skinny legacy waved off their concerned glances.

"Don't worry about me, I wasn't interested in trying my luck," he said with a chuckle.

"Okay… I don't want to leave you out. If you say you're okay with it though..." the daughter of Ceres seemed a little uncomfortable, but shrugged nonetheless.

Perseus grinned. "So... you guys in?"

Dakota mirrored his expression and took a deep gulp from his goblet. "Let's do it."

 **[AaMT]**

' _And here I was, hoping to get a little bit of sleep.'_ Perseus mused with a wry smile. When he'd gone to bed, he wasn't expecting to be taken into yet another dream. In fact, he'd been actively hoping for a good rest. Constantly observing pliable people and nudging situations into place for long-term goals was quite mentally taxing. Planning fifty different options of survival all before the threat even arrived took a toll when one went about it for hours on end. Humans had limits, after all.

Peering around himself, Perseus let out a long groan. He stood at the edge of a circle comprised of various worn stones. Each stone slab stood over ten feet tall. Some of the vertical stones that were closer together upheld a horizontal stone with lay over the top of a pair. Below him was a stretch of healthy green grass and dark brown dirt. The air smelled as if it had recently rained.

"I'm getting too old for this shit," he muttered. The location was decently recognizable as being Stonehenge, although he'd never visited before.

A headache had been forming for the past few hours, while he'd been dancing to the Romans' tunes, trying to incorporate himself into their ranks. For all his willingness to pander and play the game, even _he_ needed time to himself. He wasn't a machine. He wasn't a monster. Like most people, he couldn't be satisfied just by surviving. Something was missing, though he couldn't place what it was.

Perseus crouched down and ran his hand through the soil. "I'm just another guy, blindly making my way through life the best I can. A soldier without a banner. A man without a driving motivation except to live. What's the point anymore?"

He clenched his fist around a clump of dirt and brought it to his nose. Inhaling deeply, a shiver passed through his body when the aroma of fresh nature tickled his nostrils. The rich, earthy scents reminded him of his childhood, when he'd been far less concerned with existential questions and the dealings of supernatural entities.

In a way, Perseus wanted to experience that same level of ignorance as in his youth. At the same time, though, he never wanted to lead such an uninteresting life ever again.

"And so, we continue walking along… until our feet can carry us no further," he lamented, wistfully staring at cool soil that seeped through his fingers.

" _Oh, my dear Perseus, you know nothing about the hopelessness of life."_

Spinning around, the teen searched his surroundings for the person who'd spoken. The voice was easily identifiable; especially when he'd been hearing it in his dreams for years.

"Gaea," Perseus greeted neutrally, letting his woeful countenance solidify. "Speaking in the shadows again? Have you no pride to look your grandson in the eyes while tormenting him?"

A soft laughter echoed across the landscape, pushing its way through his brain and running into his bones. _"I take no stock in pride anymore, Perseus. I have goals I wish to accomplish. None of which will be fulfilled should I fall prey to arrogance like others might. No, I have waited for centuries to be born again into the world, and I can wait a little longer."_

Gaea practically purred her words, though Perseus found nothing pleasant about her delivery. His grandmother was old, too old for him to manipulate easily, especially if he didn't have her pride to twist for his purposes. Both of them were not pieces on the game board, but rather players that made the moves.

Even so, Perseus wasn't superior to Gaea in any way that he was aware of. It was a grudging thing to admit, but he would do it nonetheless.

Gaea was _eons_ older than he was. She'd been manipulating people before humans had even come to exist. Compared to the Olympians or even the Titans, she was on a completely different level.

"Well, I suppose that might complicate things for me, right?" Perseus asked blandly, picking at his fingernails. "Why am I here? What new discussion were you wanting to have, grandmother? Please, don't waste my time. I'm tired from working today."

The earth rumbled. "Of course. You pull your own strings while I make my grand plans fall into place. I knew there was a reason I liked you, Perseus."

Turning around, the young man saw Gaea's face embedded into one of the large stones that comprised Stonehenge. Her voice came from the slab, instead of from all around like it had before. The sound reminded him of rocks being battered against one another.

Crossing his arms, Perseus gave a dry smile. "I'm flattered that you've taken such an interest in me, Gaea. Now if that's all you've got to say to me, I'll be taking my leave."

"I apologize for taking your valuable time, Perseus," the ancient goddess replied, sounding oddly genuine. "I do find it so entertaining to see you go about your business with the Romans. As I said before: consider joining me, and I will see to it that you and I provide company for one another after the dust has settled."

Nodding slowly, the young man shrugged noncommittally. "I'll think about it."

"Good, good. I can hear the indecision in your voice. Come to me, Perseus, seek me out. Once I regain the earth, you will be safe. I will spare you," Gaea cooed.

"You and I are more similar than I thought, you know that?" Perseus commented idly, scratching his nose. In a way, he was actually tempted to take his grandmother's offer. He didn't actually see the point in fighting against an opponent he couldn't beat, especially if he had no personal stake in the struggle. If joining the primordial's side was a way to guarantee both his mother's and his safety, perhaps it would be for the best.

"Of course. We are kin. We are blood. You are the son of my son. Intelligent, cruel, dangerous. Still, though, you are new to this world. Inexperienced in all that it has to offer. The pleasures of the flesh, for instance. Or even true terror. One of those, I will remedy right now, to give you a taste. The other I can give to you as well, if you assist me in my rise."

Perseus stared blankly at Gaea's stony face. "Thanks for the offer, but granny panties don't really turn me on. Besides, your past lovers never seem to stick around. I've gotta wonder if it's them... or if it's just you."

Smiling at him, the goddess didn't reply. Instead, her face disappeared, sinking back into the slab of rock smoothly.

A second passed before the world shook once more, heaving violently in every direction, tearing the grass and dirt apart. Perseus was thrown off balance and knocked to the ground, which cracked and broke around him. The noise deafened him to any other sound. The tremors came in short but powerful bursts, sending the land into utter disarray.

Eventually, after nearly a full minute, the world calmed, no longer quaking in apocalyptic fury.

Staggering to his feet, the son of Iapetus dusted himself off. His attention was caught by the massive gaping maw that took residence where Stonehenge once stood. He backpedaled from the edge of the hole, which bubbled and brewed with a dark red liquid.

The metallic scent of blood filled Perseus' nostrils. Peering closer to the blood pool, he could see objects floating, bobbing under and over the precipice. Squinting, Perseus made out the shape of a human arm, too small to be an adult's. He recoiled a bit, swallowing thickly as his stomach churned.

" _The tourists coming here made for excellent blood sacrifices to create my newest bane. This particular one is for you, specialized to defeat you in battle. The Bane of Perseus. I have toiled in its construction for years, ever since I realized the threat you posed to me. This project became an insurance policy against you."_

Gaea's voice once more came from everywhere. The satisfaction in her tone was evident to Perseus.

"You're sick," he said, wrinkling his nose at the gruesome display below him. Various odd parts of more human bodies surfaced in the blood, torn and sheared from their owners. A few faces, all twisted in horror and pain, stared back at him.

The blood pool began to swirl and sink further into the hole, slowly being depleted. The limbs also sank below the surface, giving Perseus time to breathe normally. Soon, the bottom of the hole was visible, no longer covered by the grotesque display of collected human parts.

From what he could see, the small crater was smooth along the edges and sides, which would make it nearly impossible to climb up from. Tightly packed dirt made up the entirety of the cavity, dark brown and without a trace of blood anymore.

" _Now revel in the world you are born into… Apollýon! Wake for your mother and creator. Seek out and kill Perseus Jackson, the one you were made to oppose. Tear his body apart for me. Flay the skin from his muscles, cut the tissue from his bones, devour everything that you can and prove to me that you are my greatest bane."_

From the very bottom of the crater, a collection of rocks and dirt flew into the air, blasted away from the ground with tremendous force. One horribly thin arm shot from the earth, clenching and unclenching its hand sporadically, twitching and rotating in directions not natural for normal creatures. The limb was jointed at seemingly random intervals, with four segments in total, allowing for greater range of twisting and undulating.

The arm slammed down onto the ground with bones that cracked and creaked, the sounds loud enough to reach Perseus easily. Wet squelching sounds, like raw meat being squeezed, followed soon after when the newly created bane lifted itself. As the creature moved, Perseus tried to follow how it did so, only to find himself growing in trepidation at the thought of fighting such a monstrosity.

Apollýon, as Gaea had called it, hefted itself out of the dirt, spasming unpredictably through each of its limbs. The bane was humanoid in the loosest of definitions, having four limbs, each segmented into four parts. Its legs bent and _snapped_ and rotated oddly as it moved, going back and forth, side to side in a dizzying display of dexterity. A rippled surface of ghastly pink skin—textured and colored to look like chewed bubble-gum—continuously _engorging_ and _distending_ with blood, before deflating and collapsing back in on itself. At the end of one arm was a mass of bone, structured to appear like claws. The other arm sported a more human hand, although it was unnaturally thin and elongated, nearly touching the ground from a fully upright stance. Across its torso were a mass quantity of deep red lines, similar to healing cuts made with a sharp blade. Apollýon's head had no eyes, nose, or ears on it. Instead, there was only a single mouth, placed on the center of where its face should have been. The mouth stretched from one side of its head to the other in a nearly perfect horizontal line. It opened a closed, heaving _wheezy_ , _wet_ , _squishy_ , breathes through teeth that looked all too human.

"Fuck," Perseus whispered, wondering how anything could invoke such a sense of primal revulsion in him.

Apollýon reached down back into the ground from where it had been born. It pulled out an arm that must have once belonged to a sacrificed tourist. The monster didn't pause to push the human limb toward its chest, where the lines split and opened, revealing rows of teeth. The skin on its torso slid up to move aside while the proffered limb was thrust into the gaping maw.

" _I have taken many ideas from nature to create Apollýon. In time, you will see all that he has to offer. You should be grateful that I would go to such lengths for you. Instead of focusing on ways to combat the Seven demigods chosen to oppose me, I spent my time and energy in creating this for you. I already know the Seven. Their secrets, their pasts, their desires, and motivations. You, on the other hand, are simply too interesting to ignore and leave alone. As I said: this is my show of love to you, the only grandchild I care for. I wish you the best, Perseus. It would be a shame to have you die before any of your plans could be realized."_

Gaea's soft, gentle laughter filled the air as Perseus felt the waking world call to him, expelling him from what he considered to be the worst nightmare he'd had in years.

* * *

 **A/N: I definitely wasn't a little inebriated when I wrote Gaea propositioning Percy. Not in the slightest. "Apollýon" is basically a bastardization of several influences on my work from various forms of media. The name means "Destroyer" according to sources, so I thought it was appropriate considering the etymology of what "Perseus" means.**


	6. Tired of the False and Glorified

_**Review Response-**_

 _ **Death Fury: Yeah, the bane is playing an important role in the story to come. I just hope I can write it the way I want. Thanks for the review!**_

 _ **ConnorPerson: Hey, thanks for leaving behind feedback of any kind. Even a few words of encouragement are appreciated.**_

 _ **some fucking random guy: And so we have it then.**_

 _ **Guest: Thanks for the kind words!**_

 **Disclaimer: I do not make any money off this work of fanfiction. All rights for the characters in Percy Jackson and the Olympians and Heroes of Olympus go to Rick Riordan and all who were involved in the creation of the novels.**

* * *

6\. Tired of the False and Glorified

* * *

Perseus narrowed his eyes. Sunlight, bright and harsh yellow, burned at his retinas, marking only one disadvantage that he held when compared to his opponent. Blood leaked out of his lower lip, the skin of which had been broken open by Reyna's first successful strike.

Licking at the minor injury, Perseus bounced on his feet, moving from left to right as Reyna had instructed him to do. He thanked his previous affiliation with sports that strengthened cardiovascular and muscle tenacity. Both basketball and track had proven to give benefits beyond what he'd originally envisioned. The structures in his limbs were used to explosive strength being applied to them, especially when his core and lower body were concerned.

"Focus on the enemy in front of you, Perseus," his commanding officer rebuffed, swiping at his face with one of her bandaged hands.

Leaning back slightly, he dodged the attack with little effort, in compliance with more of Reyna's advice.

Perseus had been at Camp Jupiter for a total of eight days, working his best to advance his capabilities in all forms. After the dream involving Gaea, he'd basically been presented with a choice. Either he could sit and wait for his bane to seek him out and probably eviscerate him in the most painful way possible, or he could focus his efforts on preventing himself from dying a horribly uncomfortable death.

It wasn't clear to him how Apollýon would cross the Atlantic, but the monstrosity would eventually reach the United States, of that he was certain. Perseus wasn't sure how to go about fighting his bane, which troubled him more than he'd ever admit to anybody but himself. His brain rationalized that if Apollýon was alive, then it could be wounded, even killed under the right circumstances. On the other hand, Perseus' instinct warned him against brash attacks. His bane was created _solely_ to fight and defeat _him_ , which meant that Gaea must have intimate knowledge of his abilities and style of battle.

With those thoughts in mind, Perseus had realized the necessity to improve himself in every way he possibly could. Once Apollýon found him, the ensuing battle might very well decide one or the other's fate. If his bane was driven by only one desire and command, it was unlikely Perseus or his mother would ever be safe until Apollýon was destroyed—with complete and utter prejudice, of course.

His musings were interrupted by a slow building rhapsody that ghosted down into the basin. He could hear the sound roll down from every direction, pitting his ears to its droning buzz.

 _Raspy-Wet-Squishy. Breathing. Rattling-Creaking-Snapping. Bone. Quiet-Tinkling-Coarse-Hateful. Voices._

Perseus slammed his eyes shut.

The sounds weren't particularly loud. They didn't affect him like Lupa's howls did. The goddess' voice, at least, held a form of natural beauty which he could appreciate, even when it turned his brain upside-down.

Rather, the new sounds beleaguered him in the vacant night, during the roaring days, and every time in between. Where he expected to hear nothing but his own thoughts, he was given the orchestral discord of melded resonance raucously ravaging reality and time like a glib gout gouging at him.

He hated the sounds. He hated whatever was forcing the noise upon his ears—and apparently only his, as no one else seemed perturbed by the row.

"Your footwork is sloppy," Reyna chided, sweeping low with her leg and catching his ankle.

The action snapped him back to reality.

' _Oh, there goes gravity. Mom's spaghetti.'_

Perseus felt his support being taken out from under him. He cursed at the mental lapse in his practice fight and could only attempt to catch himself with his hands. Twisting his body, he managed to put an arm on the ground before a weight settled onto his back, pressing him onto the ground harshly.

Dirt filled his vision and mouth, only adding to the insult of failing to put up a good fight.

Feeling the heaviness leave his spine, Perseus pushed up, getting to his feet. He wiped at the dust around his face and lips, spitting out some bloodied saliva.

Across from him, Reyna gave him a dry stare. "For a good five days you constantly nagged both Jason and I to help with your hand-to-hand combat. When we finally cave and give you some supplementary lessons, all you end up doing is spacing out while we take time out of our schedules."

"And the only reason you _did_ cave was because _I_ offered to be used as bait for the next few war games that we'll be in," Perseus said, rolling his neck. "Tit-for-tat, I think the phrase goes. You put your time on the line, I put my body on the line… I mean… not like a prostitute or anything but more like-"

"I get it," Reyna raised a hand to stop him. "You… you really don't have to finish that train of thought."

Chuckling, Perseus rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms out. After he'd struck a deal with Jason and Reyna for some not-really-under-the-table preferential training, certain aspects of his relationships with them improved.

While he still wanted to get under Jason's skin more often than not, Perseus found that the son of Jupiter wasn't all bad company. There was a certain acerbic wit that Jason naturally carried which was fun to play off of.

Reyna, on the other hand, preferred playing the straight-man between the three of them. She would often be the one to break their small interplay with her sharp and dry comments. They weren't the best of friends, true enough, but Perseus found himself mildly enjoying the time he spent with his centurions.

"Word is that you, Dakota, and Gwen are going to team up for a group fight tomorrow," Reyna said, handing Perseus a bottle of water.

He took the bottle with a nod and uncapped it, taking a long drink before speaking. "Yeah, that's what we're gonna be doing. I actually asked them to team up last week during dinner."

The girl stared at him for a few seconds. "I also heard you're planning on doing a few solo battles."

"Also true," Perseus replied, raising his bottle. "Fame! Glory! Women! Money! All that could be mine as long as I'm willing to risk a few body parts. I _do_ like the sound of earning all of those things… especially the money."

Reyna ran a hand over her face. "Of course. Greed is the bane of all people."

' _I have a different kind of bane, actually.'_

Perseus gave an insincere shrug. "Can't argue with that. People do some crazy shit for money."

Though his centurion said nothing, he could see her eyebrows furrow a little at his statement. Such a reaction wasn't the first of its kind whenever money was brought up in conversation between them. Reyna was much easier to read than he'd initially given her credit for, something that Perseus found amusing. Over the week that they had spent getting to know one another, he'd done some minor prodding on various topics to derive a bit of her personality.

In revealing what made her tick, he would gain a better understanding of how to approach her and, inevitably, put her in the position he needed. He'd already gotten a very basic understanding of her personality through the time they spent in proximity to one another.

Reyna Ramírez-Arellano could be very outspoken when she wanted to be. Typically, he saw a stubbornness in her that many in the legion carried with them. She would often move a hand to her chin when she talked about Camp Jupiter, though the furrowing of her brows would lessen considerably. Her four closest friends in camp were Jason Grace, Hank Tibbet, Tabitha Guiles, and Abigail Delfini. While she didn't talk about them often, it was obvious that she held each one in high regard for whatever reason. She had a habit of chortling more than giggling or laughing outright.

The information wasn't much to base important decisions on, but it was a start. She clearly still didn't trust him, though her aversion toward him had lessened significantly. Occasionally, Perseus could see that she was warming up to him, little as it may have been.

' _Most other people I've met are already proving to be more agreeable. Even Jason isn't nearly as guarded around me as Reyna is. Do I need a different approach? No, this is working, I just need to be patient. If I haven't made progress by the time praetor elections come around, things should still work out in my favor.'_

The more time he spent thinking about his plan to gain the Romans' support, the more he questioned the necessity to deceive them. True enough, he doubted that many people would view him in an unbiased light should he reveal his parentage. Doing that may only lead to the gods finding out, after which he would most likely die due to their paranoia.

An unacceptable outcome.

His introduction into the greater world that he inhabited imparted something onto him, although he wasn't certain what it was. Before, when he'd been just another person in high school, another teenager growing up to be pushed into society's ever-moving mulcher, he held ambivalence towards death. While he wasn't looking to die, he also wouldn't have fought against his inevitable fate. People _needed_ to die. That was the only natural option.

When his purpose was to live for nothing he cared about, learning about a bane that was meant specifically to rip him apart would probably have been completely welcome. He would have impatiently waited for it to find him, or he would have gone and found it instead.

With everything that had happened since that time, though, Perseus couldn't pin his emotions with one label. There was a certain eagerness that brewed inside him, that much he understood. Such a feeling was not surprising to him, nor was it unwarranted for somebody like himself, who actually liked to fight.

What made Perseus frown was the trepidation, anxiety, apprehension, and the fear, all of which culminated into a symphony of raw sentiment that he'd never actually experienced before.

It was all so new to him, but he found nothing terrible about the emotions that made his hands tremble and his legs shake. The beauty of his entirely human reaction never felt sweeter in his mouth. Birds seemed to chirp louder, laughs from those close to him affected him equally, food exploded with savory expectation against his tongue.

Perseus wondered if the looming threat of violent death was coloring his perception of the world. The brain was a mystery to him, after all, and it acted almost irrationally in the oddest of situations. If he really was going to die when Apollýon reached California, maybe he was subconsciously trying to live his life in an entirely new way; using his limited time to regale in new things that held his wonder and contentment.

' _Is this why normal people want to keep on living, even if their lives seem boring to other people? Because, to them, this life is the only thing that they want to experience. Without guarantee of a happy afterlife, they don't want to waste their only chance at being able to laugh, cry, feel fear and pain and horror and euphoria all in the world that we're born into?'_

If that were the case, then it made sense that Perseus felt the way he did. His response to Apollýon was perfectly normal for humans.

Dying painfully wasn't something that he particularly wanted to go through. Therefore he would fight not just because it was fun, or something interesting to do, but because he actually wanted to live. Maybe his Mom might have been influencing him as well, whereas before he'd tried to break away from her expectations. He loved her deeply, but damn if she wasn't hoping to make him live a safe and boring sanitized world.

The more he delved into his given life, the more invested he became into furthering his abilities and actually interacting with people like him.

And because of his newfound interest, he found himself almost wanting to reject his mortality.

For reasons unknown to him, the realization ate at his brain more than he could fathom. It felt _wrong._ His instinct told him that he had to accept the truth. All in all, it was quite confusing, not that he'd let it fester for too long. He _would_ find the answer. Nothing could hide from him.

Growling loudly, Perseus quickly drank the rest of his water and crushed the bottle in hand.

"What's gotten into you?" Reyna asked, looking taken aback by his sudden outburst.

Perseus had forgotten she was still standing next to him. He shifted his face into apologetic almost instinctively and forced his voice onto a slightly higher octave that many people found endearing. "Oh, just remembering something Jason told me the other day about his days with Lupa. I was just comparing those experiences with the ones that I've had with her. You wouldn't expect it, but she's a lot cooler than she lets on."

Reyna scoffed and shook her head. "I don't know what's your fascination with angering her. One day, she'll lose patience with you. Don't expect any help from the legionnaires when that time comes. We like our limbs in their proper places."

"Eh, sue me for thinking a talking mama-wolf is fun to tease," he shot back with a shrug. "Anyway, I'm gonna head out. You wanna join me for lunch in New Rome? The Cerealia is in full swing, so I hear they've got some cool things at the restaurants."

"Afraid not. I've made plans with some people already to enjoy the festivities," Reyna said, scratching at her arm. She looked away for a few seconds before facing him again, although Perseus could tell that her eyes were aimed just above his own, perhaps at his eyebrows. "If you wanted… you can come with us? We could all go together, relax a little before the coliseum fights tomorrow."

Perseus smiled, pleased that he was being invited. "Thanks for the invite, but I wouldn't feel comfortable butting in on your time with friends."

' _Even though I wouldn't mind getting to work on you and your friends, it wouldn't do good to look overly eager. Besides, I have some research to do. You'd only stop me from moving forward.'_

Reyna raised an eyebrow and shrugged at the rejection. "Your call."

Nodding, Perseus pulled Impetus from his pocket and put the toothpick between his teeth, relieved that he could stop being courteous. He was getting sick of being nice. Bored. "Thanks for the water. See ya."

Turning, he walked away, his eyes flitting from left to right, ready to catch what might jump at him in offense. The dream of Apollýon being born from earth stood in the forefront of his mind. He could still see the horror pushing itself from the hole. He could still hear the crackling of bone and the moist rasps that left its mouth. He could still smell the iron permeating the air from the sacrifices made by Gaea. He could still taste the blood on his tongue as he bit his lip from cursing the primordial goddess for creating such an abomination. He could still feel the way his heart pounded at his ribs, anxiety slowly heating his skin to unpleasant levels.

Perseus gritted his teeth, feeling the muscles in his jaw grow taut and painful. The feeling of terror wasn't one that he enjoyed. He hated it, in fact, more than anything else. It reminded him that he was more limited than he gave himself credit for.

' _Damn. Damn!'_

"Perseus!"

He spun on his heel, locking eyes with Reyna for a moment. Her expression told him that he was too lost in his own anger.

"Yeah?" His voice came out calmly, though even _he_ could tell there was strain in it. "What's up?"

The centurion opened her mouth for a moment, her troubled look falling to the ground. "I… uh… if we fight against one another tomorrow… I don't want you to hold back on me, okay? I want you to hit me with everything you've got, and then some. I'm gonna do you the same courtesy… one warrior to another! Battle is the best place where I can see your resolve."

Though they stood over twenty feet from one another, Perseus saw when she raised her head to stare at him directly in the eyes. To her credit, she managed to look for as long as he let her. As her words raced through his mind, though, Perseus felt his anger growing at her condescension.

She was looking down on him. _She actually had the fucking audacity!_ Her tone of voice said it all. She thought he was easy to read, like the other people at Camp Jupiter. Did she really think that one fight would give her a more intimate understanding of who he was? Of what he'd experienced and how it'd influenced him into becoming what she stood before that very day? Was she so arrogant to think that he would ever fall prey to a piece on his board, instead of another competitor? Did she think she could actually be considered competition?

He was still too wrapped up in his thoughts. He wasn't in the right state of mind, thinking hard on Apollýon and how the creature had demoralized him. Perseus knew that his anger was affecting him more than he should've allowed. Even then, though, he decided to answer her in the most truthful way he could, for no reason other than to feel more human than he had in over a month. In that moment, he felt the foundation of his self-necessitated caricature crack.

Perseus scoffed and let the muscles in his face relax, setting himself neutral once more. "If that's what you want, fine. I'll fight how you want. That being said, stop wasting my time with your delusions of grandeur. Understand me through battle? Learn about my resolve? There's nothing to learn or understand in that sense. I always fight to win. I always strive to win. I. Always. Win. Sometimes, it isn't always obvious. Now… if that's all…?"

The girl said nothing, her mouth slightly open at his words. With a blasé yawn, Perseus pushed away from her, stalking across the Field of Mars and toward New Rome.

 **[[AaMT]]**

"Ah, I love the major festivals here. Nothing tops 'em!" Dakota declared, taking a sip of Kool-Aid from his sports bottle.

Nodding, Perseus couldn't find it in himself to argue with the statement. The last day of the Cerealia was far grander than the previous two. Massive wool banners, all nearly twenty feet long and ten feet wide, were hanging from many of the larger buildings. Each proudly displayed a pair of crossed torches on top a stalk of wheat: the symbol of Ceres, to whom the festival was dedicated. Several stall vendors lined the roads, selling all forms of grain and vegetable products at heavily discounted prices.

With Dakota and Gwen by his side, Perseus moved through the filled streets of New Rome, walking toward the coliseum. There were still a few hours until the first events started in the massive arena, but both Gwen and Dakota had dropped hints that getting there early never hurt anybody.

After he'd practically mangled his growing relationship with Reyna by way of his words yesterday, he'd gone on to find information regarding Gaea's previous banes. The public library in New Rome was a large three-story building set in the typical motif of white marble and red tile. Inside was a trove of knowledge, most of which he didn't care for. His search had lasted the better part of two hours as he scoured the library, looking through the history section earnestly to find what he was looking for, eventually being rewarded by gathering five books that dealt with the Gigantes.

He'd spent the rest of the evening and much of the early morning learning what he could about each bane, including how they'd been defeated. So far, nothing had helped.

"Looks like it might rain," Gwen commented offhandedly, enticing Perseus to lift his eyes.

Clouds clogged the sky, not letting any sun break through their deep gray bodies. The day was fairly dark, even though it was close to eleven in the morning. A brisk wind would often roll down from the hills, chilling Perseus through his purple T-shirt. Around him, people crowed and called out.

"One bushel of wheat, only a denarius! Get it while it lasts!"

"Three bushels of barley, one denarius, last day to buy!"

Perseus chuckled. "But do not damage the oil and wine."

Dakota gave him an odd look. "What?"

"You've never heard of that saying?"

"I think I might've heard it somewhere before..." Gwen started, jumping in on the conversation. A sudden gust of wind forced her to cover her eyes. Brushing some of her auburn hair behind her ear she stared at the clouds. "It sounds vaguely familiar."

"Yeah, well, I don't know anything about it," Dakota shrugged helplessly.

Shaking his head, Perseus kept his pace, noticing that their destination was in sight. The stone walls of the amphitheater boasted a height of over one-hundred feet. Unlike the Coliseum in Old Rome, the one in Camp Jupiter was sectioned in only three stories, not four, mostly due to the lack of required seating. Apart from that small detail, the new coliseum had been modified in a few other ways and looked fairly similar to the original model, although the stone wasn't as worn and the walls were perfectly intact. Each level of the structure had arches carved into the stone, interspersed at regular intervals, which acted as view-ports both into and out of the building. It was a splendid marvel; of that, Perseus was sure.

"C'mon, participants enter through the east side," Dakota gestured to their left.

Each arch on the ground level acted as an entry point, though metal bars blocked access to a majority of them. Only two entrances were open from what Perseus could see, the rest were covered by steel, perhaps in an effort to maintain some form of order.

A few people trickled in through the open arches, no doubt hoping to get good seats for the upcoming gladiatorial events.

Perseus followed Gwen and Dakota as they led him around the coliseum. Eventually, after having walked half the structure's circumference, he noticed two people standing at an unblocked entrance. The guards wore only a silver cuirass to show their military affiliation, and neither had a weapon in hand. Terminus was too strict for anybody to get out of the no weapon policy in the city.

"Have your tablet ready to show that you're a soldier," Gwen instructed, raising the sleeve of her jacket up so that her tattoo was uncovered. Dakota did the same. Perseus wrapped a finger under the string of his tablet and pulled it over his shirt.

Once they reached the entrance, the two stationed sentries halted them.

"Participating?" one of the soldiers asks flatly, having his hand placed in front of him in a stopping gesture. He looked tired, making Perseus wonder how long the poor guy had been standing out in the wind. The other guard said nothing, his expression practically blank, eyes slightly glazed over as he stared into the distance.

"You know it." Dakota's statement wasn't particularly enthused, falling into the same dreary tone that the guard used. The son of Bacchus turned his arm to show his stripes, Gwen following suit while Perseus lifted his tag.

The guard gave them a quick once over before nodding and moving aside, gesturing vaguely for them to enter. Instead of leading to the inner part of the coliseum like he'd expected, the entry point dipped into a descending stairwell, being just wide enough for one person to fit inside. Lanterns hung from high on the walls, small fires lighting the path down the stone steps.

Perseus fell behind Dakota, with Gwen taking the front. "Where're we going?" he asked, voice bouncing around the stairwell.

"This is the fastest way to reach the hypogeum," Dakota explained, turning his head over his shoulder. "If we didn't go this way, we'd have to climb down onto the arena floor and head through the gates there. Not the easiest path to take, ya see?"

"The hell is a hippo-gem?" Perseus frowned. "Do you guys have hippos down here? Isn't that… I dunno, pretty messed up?"

Gwen laughed from her position, stopping when her breathing became haggard and choked. Bending over, the girl placed one hand on the wall while holding her stomach. "Oh-oh-ha-ha-oh my gods… my sides… gods that was an adorable question. Man, when you aren't going all Terminator on us in training, I can appreciate your sense of humor."

Perseus clicked his tongue at her response. "Shut it."

Dakota chuckled, though he hadn't lost his composure like Gwen. "No, it has nothing to do with hippos. The hypogeum is an underground staging area. It's used to set up props and stuff for the bigger performances. Plus it makes for a good gathering spot for gladiators. There's a bunch of engineering mumbo-jumbo, like pulley systems and mechanical hoo-haw that I've got no idea about, which is also used to move stuff around and get us up to the arena floor."

"Gotcha. Thanks for answering me, instead of just laughing… unlike some people I could mention."

"Ah, c'mon, Big P, your words hurt!" Gwen said, holding a hand over her heart. "I never knew you could be so cruel."

"Big P? You've spent a week thinking of a nickname… and _that's_ the best you came up with? By the gods, you've inherited too much of your mom's domain. You're becoming a potato! Gwen, don't go toward the carbs!" Horror struck his voice the best he could force it, though since it wasn't a reaction he was well-versed in, it probably fell a bit flat.

Gwen turned red in the face and hung her head in apparent shame. "I know. It's bad. You don't have to rub it in, though. I just… gods… it's too damn hard to come up with something that fits you! Maybe I just don't know you well enough."

Dakota took a drink. "Alright you two, let's save the flirting for after we kick ass in the group fights."

"I'm not flirting with him." Gwen stated blandly. "He doesn't exactly strike my preference in men."

Perseus sighed loudly. "Yeah, c'mon, Dakota, totally not tubular. You and I both know she has a thing for guys with crippling addictions to Kool-Aid. I mean, who could resist those red-stained lips?"

"Shut up!" Gwen shouted, trying to push Perseus, only for her body to collide with Dakota's. The two went down in a tangle of limbs. Perseus casually stepped over them, continuing to walk down the stairs, hands in his pockets as he ignored the curses of both older campers.

 _Clinking-Jingling-Jangling. Fetters. Dripping-Rambling-Leaking-Bubbling. Hatred. Chirping-Energetic-Crashing. Enlightenment._

He almost stumbled on the steps, only to skip one and catch himself on the next. His breath came heavy and powerful in his chest, filling his lungs with fire. He couldn't make mistakes, not in the coliseum. He couldn't let his focus be drawn away by the haunting sounds the resonated in his brain. Taking time to breathe normally, he continued downward.

Eventually, the stairs ended, leaving him standing in a fairly large square room. Brown stone made up the walls and roof while sand covered the floor in a thin sheet of its rough texture. Fires burned in several braziers spread across the room, emitting both heat and light, chasing off the chill from outside. Opposite of where he stood, the wall was covered by a row of shelves and racks filled with armor and weapons. The smell reminded him of his house's basement: dank and musty, like nobody bothered to clean up any mildew that may have accumulated over the years.

He'd have to talk to his Mom about that.

There was a large wooden door, ten feet wide and as tall as the ceiling. Three people stood by the exit, speaking amongst themselves in hushed tones. They looked mostly equipped to fight, with armor in the proper places, chests, arms, and shins being covered. He should've expected to see them, though their presence still caught him off-guard, if only for a moment.

None of them in the group seemed to have noticed his entrance, nor had they apparently heard the commotion that Gwen and Dakota caused. An odd coincidence, when he considered that the stairwell must have carried their voices well enough. There should have been some form of echo that would find its way down into the large room.

He circled warily around the edge of the room, careful not to draw unwanted attention with sudden movements or scuffling feet. Once he reached the weapons, where none of them had clear line of sight, he focused his attention solely on their conversation, wondering what had them so enraptured that they let themselves fall into false security.

"… can't be too careful around them. Michael and Hank can be dangerous when they get cornered. Sore losers." Jason's voice was distinct, although it was difficult to hear. "Who's the third in their group?"

Reyna answered his question in an equally silent tone. "Not sure, though I'd bet it's somebody from the First. Obviously it's not gonna be Octavian. Wouldn't really count on Michael trusting another person from the Third to watch his back, unless their name starts with 'H' and ends with 'ank'."

The third member, Reyna and Jason's good friend, Abigail, giggled at the insinuation. "Jeez, why don't you tell us how you really feel."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm sure you don't. Okay, we've got them to worry about… who else do you think is gonna be trouble?" Her voice wasn't as indifferent as Reyna's, having a lighter quality to it. Perhaps it spoke to the disparages between their upbringings, where one went through more hardship than the other. Or perhaps one simply dealt with problems in a healthier way. Though he didn't know, Perseus felt the need to look into it further.

Jason cut back into the conversation, his words becoming tighter. "Yeah, another group I'm worried about… Perseus, Dakota, and Gwen."

"Huh? Really? What's got you so worked up over those guys?"

"I was thinking the same thing," Reyna interjected, sounding much like Jason had. "If it were almost anybody else with Gwen and Dakota, it might not be as bad. With Perseus in their group, though… I think if we get pitted against them we'll be in for a good fight."

Abigail huffed in frustration. "Okay, can someone fill me in on what's going on? You make it sound like Perseus is some big-bad boogeyman or something. I've seen him in practice, and yeah, he's good, but against you two? No way he's gonna win."

Perseus allowed himself a light chuckle, turning to face the other group of contestants, setting his eyes sharply. "Oh, but didn't you know, Abigail..."

Jason and Reyna reacted first, their bodies spinning to turn in his direction. Abigail moved a second later, her eyes wide and mouth dropping, startled.

"I am the boogeyman."

Reyna scoffed, her stance still guarded against him, hand hovering over the gladius strapped at her waist.

Jason allowed his body to relax a bit. "Jeez, how'd you get so close to us? I didn't even hear you come in."

"I have my ways. How're you guys doing? Sounded like you're busy building a strategy on dealing with the competition."

The group looked uncomfortably between one another. Reyna's right hand was clenched around the handle of her sword, having moved down sometime during the conversation, a clear indicator of her caution toward Perseus. Her eyes often slashed their way to his body, cutting burning swaths of distrust on various important anatomical locations, no doubt a way to prepare herself to strike.

He wasn't surprised to see the reaction, especially after what he'd pulled the day before, threatening her so blatantly as he had. His spur of the moment rhetoric disgruntled her, forcing her into an anxious state. The marvel of what words could do to a person never ceased to amaze him, although when he thought about the situation, he admitted that his emotions had probably taken too much control from him. It felt like whatever progress he'd made with Reyna crumbled with those few sentences, leaving him worse off than when he started.

Perseus turned his head to the stairs as his teammates stepped off the final step. Gwen and Dakota stared at him, then turned their attention to the other group. Nobody spoke for a few seconds and Perseus decided that the only other things he could say were drenched in heavy-handed taunts that wouldn't do him too many favors in the long run. Therefore, he held his tongue and went back to examining the weapons gathered on the wall.

He faintly heard both teams exchanging pleasantries while he ran his thumb over the edge of a gladius.

"You don't have to use one that's provided, y'know?"

His eyes flickered to the right, where Abigail stood, hands on her hips. The girl was two years younger than he was, or so he gathered. Her hair fell in waves to just above her shoulders, black and glossy even in the fire-light. Contrasted to her rosy—almost playful—tone of voice, her eyes were cut like rubies: practically jagged, and gleaming red. They weren't rounded like most people's irides, perhaps reflecting her heritage as a child of Bacchus. He'd only heard rumors of her, and standing up close, he could very well put some credence into most of what he learned.

"Whaddya mean?"

"Your spear," she said, as though it were meant to be obvious. "Terminus lets us use any personal items in the coliseum and the Circus Maxima. I have a feeling that you're pretty attached to the thing, right?"

Perseus stared blankly for a few seconds. The two of them had been introduced briefly once before, but he knew practically nothing about who Abigail Delfini really was. It was an odd feeling, to have another person know more about him than vice-versa. And so, he faltered.

"Do you need help finding it?" she asked, tilting her head to one side inquisitively. "I'm sure with both of us looking we'll be able to spot it faster."

"No thanks, I'll be fine on my own," he responded, shaking his head negatively.

"Really?"

"Yeah, no big deal."

The girl shrugged and backed off. "Alright then. Do you mind if I ask you some questions then?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Depends. Go ahead and ask, but I'll decide what to answer."

She smiled at him, her eyes locking onto his. "Cool! I've been wondering about the kind of person you are. Jason and Reyna bring you up in conversation every now and then."

His eyebrow curved up in peculiar amusement. "That so? I wonder what they could be saying about lil' ol' me. I'm nothing special."

"Ho? I wouldn't be so sure about thaaat~" Abigail sang, hands behind her back. "I won't say anything out of respect for them, considering they're my friends and all that, but I still find it funny how much you've affected them already. Like… hm… like a particularly nasty rash that they can't seem to get rid of. Or a big cold-sore, ya know, the infectious kind."

"I get this odd feeling that you're calling me a disease," Perseus noted with a small smile.

"Whaaaat? No, never! How could you even think I'd do something like that?" She asked coyly, her eyes growing wide and her finger going to her lips. "Then again, I do feel very protective of my friends. So if I thought that something was bad for them… well… I wouldn't just sit back and watch them self-destruct, ya know?"

His smile fell at her words. "A true saint, then. You're the epitome of what people should strive to be, especially when it comes to those they care about and love. I suppose in that respect, we're pretty similar, because I like to think I'd do the same in your situation."

"If you had people you actually loved, though, am I right?"

Perseus turned away, scanning the weapons on display to find his spear. "Don't you think it's a little too soon to be judging one another."

"Maybe. I might've been a bit cruel with what I said," Abigail admitted. "I doubt you'd be upset about it though. You don't strike me as the kind of guy who'd get very upset over that, so I suppose I just went off the top of my head, saying what I felt was right."

"You must have a very deep understanding of me, to assume something so major," Perseus said. A glint of silver among the gold caught his eye in the yellow light. He walked over, finding his spear standing on its haft, leaning against the stone wall. He heard Abigail follow behind him, her feet shuffling through the sand. "Too bad I don't know anything about you, then, other than your name I guess. I'd like to get to fix that, though. If you aren't opposed, whaddya say we… talk more in-depth over a cup of hot chocolate… some other time?"

He grabbed Impetus, forcing it back into a toothpick, and put it under his tongue.

"Maybe I'll take you up on that offer, sometime in the future," Abigail said.

Pulling a smile onto his face, he turned around. Dakota and Gwen were making their way toward him, with Jason and Reyna in tow. "Great. We'll definitely find some time then," he replied.

"Been keeping him out of trouble?" Jason chuckled at Abigail when the two groups came together.

The girl shrugged fondly. "He behaved himself for the most part."

"That's good. I know he can be a handful at times," Gwen said, playfully slapping Perseus on the shoulder. "It's nice to hear that he can control himself in _some_ situations."

"Hilarious," Perseus droned, crossing his arms. "Ignoring my general behavior, how long are we gonna be down here? Why come so early?"

"First come, first serve policy for equipment here in the coliseum," Jason answered. He motioned to the rows of weapons and armor. "Some of the stuff here is nicer than everything else, so people want to pick out the top of the line."

"Unless you've got yourself some fancy personal weapons or whatever…" Dakota grabbed a segmented cuirass from the shelf next to him and held it up. "Then you've gotta learn to deal with what's given. Gwen, Abigail, and I don't have anything like that, so here we are."

Reyna—who appeared to have relaxed significantly from before—gazed critically at Perseus. "Speaking of which… you didn't bring the Nemean Lion's pelt with you?"

Gwen scoffed. "No, he didn't. We asked about it earlier and all he gave us was some stupid reason like-"

"I don't want to win so easily," Perseus supplied, stretching his neck.

"Yeah. Like that!" she groaned, taking a cuirass for herself, requesting Dakota's help in shuffling it on.

Abigail laughed and shook her head. "Now that's rich. A Roman who doesn't want to win? What's the world come to?"

Perseus glanced at Reyna, catching her eye for only a moment before the girl looked away.

"I always win, even if it isn't always obvious," he drawled. "At least, I'd like to say that, though it isn't true."

The room stooped into calm silence before Abigail broke it abruptly. "Well, we've got some time before the event starts. Why don't we play a game to pass the time?"

"What'd you have in mind?" Dakota asked, dropping to sit on the sandy ground, having gotten his own armor in place around his torso.

Everybody followed his example, waiting for Abigail to think of something. Perseus opted to stay silent, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. The fires in the braziers thankfully didn't emit any smoke, meaning none of them would die of inhalation of dangerous substances. The sand was cool beneath his pants, though the ground was hard and uncomfortable.

He was tired after spending a good portion of last night researching the Giants. Sleep wouldn't have been unwelcome, if he didn't have better things to do, like preparing for an uncertain future.

"How about 'never have I ever'?" Abigail finally suggested halfheartedly.

"That's more of a drinking game than anything else," yawned Perseus. "We've gotta have something to lose, like our sobriety or our clothes. Both of those things are off the table, though, considering where we are and what we're about to do."

The group nodded in compliance.

"Then what do you suggest?" the daughter of Bacchus asked wryly. "After all, you're the one who's impatient about this whole thing."

Perseus closed his eyes. "I think you read too far into my question. I'm fine sitting patiently and waiting for the time to come."

"Reeeeally? So that's why your fingers are tapping the ground and your leg won't stop moving? Admit it, you need stimulation just as much as the rest of us do… so pick something to do, Gray Boy."

He took a moment to respond, not opening his eyes when he eventually spoke. "Why am I the one who has to choose? You guys are the ones who know each other. I'll play along with what you want to go with."

Impetus pricked at his tongue a few times while he heard the others talk amongst themselves. At the edges of his attention, the sound of breathing tickled his ears. It was a deep thing, wrapped in metal and confined under rock, traveling across water and soaring over sky, mired in blood and soaked in torturous continuity. The whispered croaks shook like bodies in a flurry of snow, drenched in the chill that was brought by winter, by the end; both in year and in substance.

The damnable noise had haunted him for days. Covering his ears wouldn't work. He'd tried. Meditating was equally as useless. The sounds would break his nerve. They managed to evoke the deepest of odd feelings within him, so that he could equate them to something imaginable. At least that way he wouldn't drive himself up the wall hearing a ghastly indescribable chorus of horror.

It was only Gwen's slightly louder voice that brought Perseus' attention focusing back onto his acquaintances. "How about some simple truth-or-dare? I mean, sure it's cliché as all get-out, but we can't really go wrong if we put some limits down."

The others nodded tentatively, looking toward him when they'd agreed between themselves.

"I'm fine with that," he grunted.

When he noticed the stares directed his way, he couldn't help but growl, "What're you looking at?" It was more forceful than he'd intended, though it brought about the change and pushed the group to begin decided who would go first.

His bad mood was festering, no doubt coloring his perception and ability to communicate. He needed to rein himself in, hopefully before he did something inexcusable.

 **[[AaMT]]**

"… and so the kid is practically half-dead, right? Well, _I_ don't wanna stand around and watch as the wedgie gets any worse, 'cuz at this point his underwear are halfway inside him, so I walk up to the bully and-"

Jason coughed to interrupt Perseus' story. "Yeah, uh, we just dared you to tell us your most embarrassing moment as a kid, not recite The Divine Comedy."

"And I was getting to the embarrassing part. I never even made it to where the ketchup and mustard were brought in for extra effect," Perseus argued, looking around only to find unimpressed stares directed his way. "Fine, whatever, who goes next?"

"No time for that," Reyna shook her head, beckoning at the far wall. "The doors are opening. We're about to be let into the coliseum."

"Finally." Perseus rose to his feet, patting his jeans free of sand. "I was starting to get think this room would've been my grave. Spooky thought indeed."

Around the room, more people milled in their own separate areas, with friends or by themselves. The game of truth-or-dare that Gwen had proposed lasted for well over two hours, which surprised Perseus in terms of length. He'd figured that they would've gotten bored of it in under thirty minutes. The company he was in had not only alleviated his tedium, but it also helped him forget about the horror that was probably on a boat across the Atlantic, sharpening its claws in anticipation.

"How many people do you figure came this month?" Abigail queried, glancing around the room, waving at one group in particular with a smile. "There seem to be a lot more than I remember last time."

"Yeah, it does look like there are at least ten more legionnaires going out this time around," Reyna nodded, hefting her sword in each hand a few times. She rolled her head and sighed when her neck cracked. "I counted forty-two, though the group slots haven't all been filled. I only counted five out of the eight that are allowed to join."

Perseus arched an eyebrow. "There's a limit to how many groups can participate?"

Jason patted him on the shoulder. "The groups fight is split into two battles of four groups. This means extra spectacle for the audience and good combat practice for us legionnaires. Twelve people on the battlefield may not seem like a lot, but when only two people are your allies, it can get kinda hectic. This isn't a place for us to die, so we try to keep the danger to a minimum, otherwise you might start seeing free-for-alls with thirty or more soldiers."

The other legionnaires shuffled closer to the door as it was raised upward, the sounds of chains echoing through the room. For a moment, Perseus felt his blood run cold, only to shake his head at the absurdity of his reaction, knowing that the chains he was hearing were actually real, unlike the ghostly projections that haunted him.

Once the door had risen into a small crevice in the ceiling the legionnaires filed out, chattering between themselves.

Dakota nudged Perseus softly. "Last chance to put on some armor. The others took most of the good stuff, but you could still find something."

"I think I'll be fine. You just worry about yourself."

Sighing, Dakota nodded, though there was a grudging undertone to it. "Alright, as long as you know what you're getting into. Some people might aim straight for you since you'll look open."

Perseus watched as Jason, Reyna, and Abigail all walked out of the room. He moved after them, forcing Dakota and Gwen to catch up to his long strides. He cast a sidelong glance to the shelves of equipment as he passed by, undeterred by the absence of perceived protection on his person. The metallic paraphernalia cast him one last sparkle before he walked out of the preparation room and into a long corridor.

The ground was still covered in dry, pale yellow sand. Torches lined the walls, held in place by brass sconces and angled brackets bolted into the stone.

Near the middle of the corridor waited a large square platform of tightly packed wooden slats reinforced with iron strips. Each corner of the platform had a metal apparatus, somewhat like a hook, which connected to a thick chain which stretched up into a wide opening in the ceiling.

Legionnaires near the front of the procession began to take up places on the platform, moving neatly to form rows of eight across, which was all the space afforded to them. Even so, Perseus could tell that there was more than enough room for over sixty people to fit onto the wooden surface.

Soon, he himself stepped up and found a place next to his team. He looked left, and then right, tilting his head to get a better view down each direction. To the sides were another pair of corridors running perpendicular to the platform, while the passageway he was walking through previously continued further down, creating a four-way intersection exactly where the wooden platform rested.

"Wait a second… is this an elevator?" he mumbled to himself more than anybody around him. The chains looked sturdy enough, though the observation did little to assuage his worry.

"Yup. This'll take us straight up behind the gates that we use in the coliseum. From there we'll all march out in a cool little show, hoping to rile the crowd up for what's to come," answered Gwen.

Perseus glanced up to see a cavernous blotch of black above him, only partly being lit by the torches nearest to him. At the farthest end of the tunnel was a dull whitish light, illuminating a fraction of what lay before him. Some cold air panned down to wash over those standing on the elevator floor, cooling the nerves that were apparently buzzing in most of the participating gladiators.

"Who opened the door for us in the prep room? And how do they know when to lift the elevator?" he asked, grasping his chin with a frown. "Psychic? Nah, that doesn't make a lot of sense. Cameras? Possible, but not likely. So many questions, so little time."

"It's all on set on a schedule," replied Jason from behind, where he stood in his own row. Perseus turned to give a questioning glance. The centurion nodded when he saw the signal to continue. "We don't need somebody to manually crank our pulleys. The Vulcan kids did a good job in semi-modernizing the mechanical systems we use. All the operators behind the scenes have to do is set the doors to open at a specific time, and the system does what it's told. Same for the elevator. The legionnaires have exactly seven minutes to get situated before it goes up. Anybody not on board gets left behind and doesn't participate."

Scanning his immediate area, Perseus frowned. "No guards on the edges of this thing. A bit dangerous don't you think?"

Before anybody could respond, the elevator jerked slightly, the chains clinking together a bit as the links lost their slack. Steadily, the wooden platform began to crawl its way up into the dark shaft that was most likely also made of stone.

Once the walls had closed around the elevator and the light below was indistinguishable, the sound of speaker feedback filled bounced off the walls.

" _Ahem… testing… testing… one, two, three… Alright, hello my rambunctious demigods. This is your elevator host, Phoebus Apollo, otherwise known as Lord Apollo, or just 'The Dude' if you're into the hip scene these days."_

With a quiet groan, Perseus rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Another god trying to fit in with the kids? Totally not tubular."

Gwen and Dakota snorted softly.

" _Quick fact about this elevator. The ride is actually a bit over four minutes long, which is pretty darn slow. Luckily, that means we have just enough time for a pretty sick song randomly picked that I think will suit the situation. Hope you enjoy! This is DJ Apollo, signing out!"_

From whatever speaker was hidden in the shaft, the randomly selected song began to play.

"How is this appropriate for the gladiator battle where horrible disfigurement is a possibility?" Perseus asked incredulously, listening to 'No One Like You' by Scorpions reverberate through his skull. It was one of his Mom's favorites, so she would always pop into his thoughts whenever he heard it. "This wouldn't have been my first choice, though… admittedly… it's a damn good song."

Dakota chuckled. "You think this is inappropriate? Try listening to Gwen Stefani sing 'Sweet Escape' just before stepping into the arena. That'll throw you off, no doubt."

Once the song ended, Apollo's voice came back, effectively ruining the pleasant mood that had been in place.

" _Well I hope you all had an enjoyable ride. Fight well out there for the glory of the sport. This was your elevator host, DJ_ **A…** _ **pO**_ **…** **l** **…** **l** _ **ý** **O**_ **n** _saying: we here appreciate and love you all. Have a great day!"_

Perseus choked. "DJ… what?"

"Hm?" Gwen turned to him.

He hesitated, noticing that the elevator was cresting over the edge of the shaft. "N-Nevermind," he muttered. His concentration broken, the only thing left for him to do was try and rationalize what he'd heard.

The elevator stopped abruptly, jolting those standing on its platform. Where they stood looked similar to the preparation room, only differing in the heavyset wrought iron gate couple dozen feet away. The chattering of hundreds of people filtered through the bars of the giant gate, almost deafening from where Perseus stood.

"Here we go," Dakota said as the gate shuddered, slowly rising to let the legionnaires through.

Stepping into the coliseum was only slightly under surreal. A heavy rain fell, the clouds finally having let loose their payload. Even so, crowds cheered when the gladiators marched out onto the muddy arena.

Perseus figured that the fighting ground was about the length of a football field, giving plenty of room for battles that may escalate in size. Looking to the seating, he could see that there was an abundance of free space, though there must have been well over five hundred people in attendance. Awnings had been extended over the audience, shielding them from the worst of the rain.

Large banners with the symbol of Ceres loomed from the walls.

"Over there's where the praetors usually sit," Gwen said, pointing at the other end of the coliseum. A special box was held empty, two lone cushioned chairs resting behind a slight rail. "On the left and right are where senators and centurions sit. Best seats in the house. Apart from the Vestal Virgins, that is."

"Where do they sit?"

Gwen jerked her head back from where they'd just come. When Perseus glanced over, he saw another cordoned section, with four girls sitting and talking between each other, just above the gate that had once again closed. Each wore white robes and carried around their necks a large pendant depicting a burning hearth.

"Priestesses of Vesta. Also known as Vestales. The chosen few to make sure that the fire in her temple never goes out. Highly respected, since Vesta herself chooses who becomes one of her beneficiaries."

He nodded. "Can they fight?"

"They can. In the old days, used to be that the head of the state religion chose the girls at a really young age to become Vestal Virgins. Now, they're given the choice after having served in the legion for five years. If they accept, I've heard rumors that Vesta gives them her blessing, basically making them more powerful than a normal demigod. Of course, they don't fight unless it's to defend the sacred hearth, so we've never seen them in action. Some secret records from a couple thousand years ago point to the Vestal Virgins having the power to conjure fire, though, so nobody knows for sure what their deal is."

With renewed interest, he glanced at the girls again.

From the way Gwen spoke, it was clear that the Vestal Virgins were held in high regard throughout Camp Jupiter. Their mystery and prestige no doubt set them a bar higher than many other officials, perhaps even putting them on par with the praetors.

One of the older looking Virgins stood and walked toward the concrete rail of her box, stepping out from under the awning, into the rain. She held her hands up and Perseus noted that the audience's chatter dwindled, slowly dying off as more people noticed the priestess. After some time, the only sound was that of the rain coming down, dully tapping on the awnings and stone.

"Thank you for your attention," the girl said loudly, her voice stern and booming. "Before we can start the gladiatorial combat, I have some… sour news. This morning, Lady Vesta came from the flames of the sacred hearth so that she could give us a message. The camp is in trouble, that much we all know. Unfortunately, she told us that unless a quest was taken to gather arms for our army, we would lose the upcoming war against the Golden One. And so, she's called for us to go in search of weapons lost a hundred years ago, in Charleston, South Carolina.

That said, she's foreseen great pain in the future for those who travel. This quest might be what saves the camp, or what leads to its downfall… and in turn, the downfall of what's left of Rome. Her exact words were: 'Failure, is simply not an option. There is no prophecy, no aid of the Sibylline Books, and no guarantee of any kind of Pyrrhic victory. Only the most assured in their chances should even dare volunteer. Anybody else would hinder our chances of success. Such an act is tantamount to treason, especially in these dire times. This quest _must_ be completed, no matter the cost.'"

As her final words died, the rain's roar grew two-fold.

Perseus glanced at those who stood around him before looking up and around at the crowd. As the freezing cold rain soaked through his clothing, he reacted after reaching his conclusion.

He moved forward, stepping away from the other legionnaires. Sheets of water had pushed his normally messy hair down, forcing him to sweep his bangs aside to look the priestess in the eye. The distance between them seemed to shrink as he felt fire fill his chest. From her gaze alone, he knew there must have been truth in what Gwen told him about Vesta giving the Vestales greater power.

"Gray hair? Are you, by chance, Perseus Jackson?" she asked, staring at him curiously. " _You_ killed the Nemean Lion?"

"I am, and I did," he said.

"You're still probatio, huh? Normally, you wouldn't be allowed on this quest. Oddly enough, our Lady mentioned _you_ in particular when she appeared to us. She would like to have a word with you at her leisure," the girl explained, gripping the edge of her balcony tightly. "You must go to her temple and bring to her a sacrifice worthy of her time. Lady Vesta made it abundantly clear that this is one summons that you _cannot_ afford to ignore. Should you do so, you will bring her substantial wrath upon yourself. Do you understand?"

He frowned. A sacrifice worth a goddess' time wasn't something cheap. There were only three things he owned that he could hold in such high regard. One was his life, though he doubted that he'd be expected to throw himself into the fire. Another was Othisi, something he wasn't particularly ready to part with, no matter the circumstances. The last would be Maximilian's pelt, which still sat idly in his locker in the barracks. While it hadn't proved very useful at camp, he was sure that there were still a variety of situations where an impenetrable piece of clothing would be invaluable.

"I'm sure I'll find something she thinks is acceptable," Perseus replied, tired of straining his voice to be heard over the rain and long distance.

"Good. Back to the topic at hand… Jason Grace and Reyna Ramírez-Arellano, you both stepped forward as well-"

Perseus looked to his right and found both centurions standing a few feet away. Their faces were set stonily, staring at the Vestales' box.

"-which the camp thanks you for. Jason, since you're well known for your talent in leadership, I'm giving you command over this quest. However, with both centurions for the Fifth gone, I do have doubts on how the cohort will manage in your absence."

Jason cleared his throat in his hand. "I have complete faith that Gwen and Abigail can lead in our steads while we're away. Both Reyna and I trust them implicitly."

The priestess nodded slowly. "Then we have our questing party. There will be no senate meeting to determine the amount of aid given. You'll be getting five hundred dollars to cover the expenses you might face out there. Lady Vesta warned against traveling by air, which means finding a way over land might be your best choice. Oh, and you should leave tonight. The sooner we can get a surplus of Imperial gold equipment for our reserves, the sooner they can take up training on their own time."

"Five hundred bucks? How detached from society are you?" Perseus muttered, shaking his head ruefully. "I'm pretty sure train tickets crossing the country go for at least a hundred per person. And we have only a few hours until we leave? What a pain."

Jason grabbed onto his shoulder and struggled to bring a smile up. "Don't think too hard over it, yeah? Trust me, we'll be fine. Our circumstances this time aren't as bad as a few of the previous quests I've been on. That aside, you should probably head over to Lady Vesta's temple… like… right now. I've learned never to keep a goddess waiting, especially an important one like Lady Vesta."

"Yeah, guess you're right on that front," he said, shrugging off the hand and dismissing his centurion with a lazy wave. "Guess I'll be leaving then."

Stepping away without another word, he cut through the rain, staring hard at the ground.

' _What does Vesta want with me? The way that priestess made it sound… there must be something important. An Olympian… Vesta… Roman forms… Greek forms… Hestia… Hestia…'_ Perseus searched his brain, trying to find reason in the impromptu meeting. His mind wandered back to the conversation between Kronos and his father on Mount Othrys. His eyes widened and his lip twitched. _'She was one of the Olympians who fought my Dad. She's one of the ones who_ beat _him. Does she know? Could she recognize me? I haven't used my power once since getting here. How? How-how-how-how? How could she have noticed the connection? Eye color? No. Hair color? Maybe, but it would be a stretch. Shit! I can't fight her, can I? A goddess!? One who was able to beat an Elder Titan in his prime? No, impossible. I'm not strong enough, that's for sure. Should I run? That sounds like a bad idea. If she wanted to kill me… then… she'd have already done it, right? So does she really just want to talk?'_

Forcing his trembling hands into his pockets, he took a breath to calm his nerves. Whatever the reason for Vesta's interest in him, he knew he'd have to be prepared to talk. Depending on whether she was working on suspicion, or if she was outright positive of his heritage, his life probably rested on her level of benevolence—and on his ability to talk his way out of bad situations.

* * *

 **A/N: This chapter builds on previous forces of pressure that Percy holds. Here, I tried to make it more visceral, hopefully representing what I'm envisioning, while also building toward the inevitable conflict. Here, I've finally let Percy become an active protag, stepping up to go on the quest to Charleston that was mentioned in MoA. From here, I'm hoping to keep up momentum of his interaction in trying to fight for his inconsistent ideals, which shift as he experiences life and all that it has to offer. Any heavyhanded narration or excessive repetition is a stylistic choice I opted to pen in because its probably important to recognize.**


	7. Brave Old World, Tepid New Faith

_**Review Response:**_

 **ChrisBMWW155326- Glad you're liking it so far. Thanks for the feedback!**

 **Death Fury- Thanks! It's awesome to hear from you every chapter!**

 **50shadesofgreyson- I'll do my best to update, but life is crazy. Anyway, I'm glad you seem to be enjoying the story so far, and thanks for the feedback!**

 **some fucking random guy- Yup, it's only me. Back with some hopefully spicy content!**

 **Trigger-Happy Texan- Hestia is the Bestia? I like it! As you noticed, it was Vesta who called Perseus this time around, so I tried to write her in what I would think was an appropriate manner. Of course, Hestia still had to make an appearance, considering how her words of wisdom and kindness can always be useful. Good to hear from you again!**

 **Ron-Jans- Thanks!**

 **divineboss2000- Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long this time, haha! Glad you liked the last chapter, and thanks for the review!**

 **Jet- Hey, thanks for those kind words. It feels good to know that people do enjoy the way I write, since I try my best to make it entertaining and interesting to read. Please do let me know your thoughts on the story if you decide to keep on reading!**

 **aesir21- I was thinking of putting in the whole gladiator fight, but I realized it might come off as somewhat unnecessary, so I skipped it in favor of plot advancement. The reason I left the hype in was to build character relationships and help with general immersion. I hope you're enjoying the story so far, and also what comes in the future. Thanks for all the feedback, by the way!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not make any money off this work of fanfiction. All rights for the characters in Percy Jackson and the Olympians and Heroes of Olympus go to Rick Riordan and all who were involved in the creation of the novels.**

* * *

7\. Brave Old World, Tepid New Faith

* * *

As rain drowned Perseus in its frigid blanket, the blazing flames in front of Vesta's temple set his mind into a comfortable place, one that reminded him of sitting next to his mother on cold winter days, wrapped in a thick blanket as the television replayed old Christmas movies.

The fires in their massive braziers rose ten feet, roaring defiantly at the thunderstorm that raged above. Never did they falter in giving off their heat.

Perseus gripped the Nemean Lion's hide tighter. The temple rested on the edge of the hill, snuggled next to the temple of Pluto and Neptune, quite close to the temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus. It was a fairly large structure, made of marble much like the city was, soft curved edges employed gratuitously. The temple itself was of a circular plan, with a faux portico shielding the wide-open front doors from the elements.

Entering the cella—the main worship chamber—he slicked his hair back, blinking the water out of his eyes. Almost as soon as he'd passed the front doors the warmth drove away the cold. He sniffled. The burning scent of incense pervaded the air.

There were scarce decorations in the temple, with a few beautifully crafted vases placed along the wall, making their way around the circular room. At the other end of the cella was a rustic fireplace built into the far wall. The stone was clean and gray, unsullied by the flames that glowed with ethereal grace inside.

As he moved closer, it became apparent that the hearth was a few feet taller than he was. The fire danced and flickered, its originally orange-yellow hues shifting to become almost silver as he came within arms reach. From where he stood, he could feel the changing heat, fluctuating from a deep, bone-caressing tenderness, into that of an all-encompassing surface tension that submerged him in its care.

The surrounding area melted away as he stared into the fire, becoming nothing more than background information. His eyes focused solely on the wonder that lay in front of him. He felt his shoulders drop slightly and the kink that he'd been harboring in his neck leave him. Pressure which had built near his temples also dissipated, relieving him of the crunching sensation that'd plagued him for days on end. His lips parted. A heavy sigh escaped. He suddenly felt tired. So tired that he could drop and sleep right then and there. His head drooped before he caught himself.

A glimpse of shimmering gold brought his intentions to the forefront. Lifting the Nemean Lion's pelt to eye level, he gripped it even tighter, feeling anxious about giving it up.

The pelt was perhaps the first noteworthy item he'd ever earned with his own merit. It was a trophy, a spoil of war, which indicated not only to the world, but to him too, that he'd done something truly incredible. With the pelt came a sense of achievement that he hadn't felt in quite some time. He was reluctant to part with it, even though it was the logically sound thing to do given the situation. Just like the fire, there was something bigger about the pelt than just the object itself. Something so incredibly supernatural that he grew almost melancholic in surrendering it.

A calm, lilting voice slowly began to fade into his ears. It's wonderful crooning soon took precedence over his thoughts, letting his anxiety ebb away.

" _Your faith was strong, but you needed proof,_

 _You saw her bathing on the roof,_

 _Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you~_

 _She tied you to her kitchen chair,_

 _She broke your throne, she cut your hair,_

 _And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah~"_

Perseus listened as the fire sang to him in the most literal sense he could fathom. The voice that came from the hearth was feminine, a young woman, perhaps, though there was a certain throatiness to the tone that added a peculiar depth of mature enlightenment. As he contemplated the quality longer, he couldn't rightfully describe the voice as anything less than beautiful. Nothing he'd heard before could match it, perhaps only holding a candle, a matchstick's flame, to it in comparison. Perhaps, then, it would do him better simply to leave it in a realm of its own—transcendent of what mortals could fathom producing with their own tawdry language. The verses continued through his thoughts.

" _Maybe I've been here before,_

 _I've seen this room, I've walked this floor,_

 _I used to live alone before I knew you~_

 _I've seen your flag on the marble arch,_

 _And love is not a vict'ry march,_

 _It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah~"_

As the voice died down, having apparently played its part, he felt the desire to call it back. The shivers that tickled his spine no longer stemmed from the cold, and he yearned to feel the sensation again. Water still fell from his hair into his eyes, clouding his vision. He sniffled again, staring into the hearth.

"People aren't usually so emotionally touched when they hear fire singing," the voice called from the fireplace, full of its wonderfully evocative timbre. "More often than not, they are startled and wary, not ones who so easily let their guard fall."

"I assumed that the only one with the authority to do create such a sound in this temple… would be Lady Vesta herself," he replied, staring at the silver flames as they swirled in place. "You called me here, but I didn't really expect to talk to a fire the whole time."

"I'm sure you didn't. That being said, there are certain expectations _I_ have from _you_ , cousin."

He narrowed his eyes, driving away the feeling of lethargy from his body aggressively. "Cousin? I don't know who my godly parent is, and I haven't claimed to be descended from any particular one either. How can we be so closely related?"

The laughter that followed his bluff told him the answer to his questions in the coliseum. Heat from the hearth soon built into a cascading crescendo, the fire growing wild and uncontrollable. Managing to take a step back, Perseus covered his face as an inferno raced around him, blotting out vision of the rest of the temple. With no time to blink, the conflagration evaporated, leaving wisps to hang in the air and a woman to stand in front of him.

He shook his head and licked his cracked lips, feeling his hair slowly fall back into its typically messy procedure, dry from the sweltering heat.

"Well… that was… ostentatious," he said, bemused as to the reason for Vesta's perceived show of power. Did all the gods self-indulge in their own egos? Lupa had been quite the show-off when he was with her, though she always tried to hide it under the guise of 'training'.

The goddess stared down at him through the blazing orange fire that made up her eyes. She was several inches taller than he was, looking around the age of twenty-five or so, with dark brown hair that was loosely draped over one shoulder. In a way, she reminded him of the statue of Rhea he'd seen in his dreamscape up on Mount Othrys. Motherly. Both stern and loving at the same time. For some reason, he really did see her as a cousin, one who he felt a deep connection with. She could be likened to a confidant, a close friend, and a childhood crush all in one.

"Spectacle tends to pique the interest of the viewers, especially when done correctly," Vesta said, folding her arms behind her. "In this way, one can almost always follow a carefully portrayed and lavish event with important matters. It strokes the ego of the viewer, who feels rewarded by the incredible and the magical, leading to them becoming more receptive of given information, especially when they subconsciously expect more stimuli in the future."

"And you expect that to work on me, especially after you spelled it out?" he asked. Again, the reasoning was lost on him. Were all gods so enigmatic?

"No, I'm pointing out what you did upon your arrival here at Camp Jupiter. Do you remember that?"

Upon his recollection, he supposed that what she said was true enough. What he'd done—killing Max in such a fashion—was all played as a benefit for the legion, when in reality it had been to further his own goals. He'd tantalized the legionnaires with his prowess, giving them a taste of what could come, should they only allow him into their ranks.

He looked at Vesta carefully. "How long have you been watching me?"

Smiling benignly, the goddess glanced around her temple, nodding to herself. "Since that night, when you first arrived. As soon as you passed into our little sanctuary here, your presence was made abundantly clear to me… through the familial bonds you intrinsically carry. Coming here, filled with so much love for your mother… and such indifference for your father… how could I not notice? The contrast, starker than day and night, left an ashen taste on my tongue. You affected me, cut into my dominion so _easily_ that I simply had to learn about you, delve into the innermost workings of your bond, discover what it was that set your emotions in such rivalry with one another."

She took a step forward and the fire behind her changed color, the silver fading into deep purple. "That love for your mother is such a strong force, my own ichor burned just feeling its simulated touch ghosting through my domain. Sally Jackson… yes… she's certainly a woman who can easily gain the love of whoever she wants. And you? Being her son, who she doted on for over seventeen years? Well, it was only a matter of time before she afflicted you with that most wonderful sentiment."

Holding her hand up, Vesta produced a purple flame in her hand, morphing its shape into the likeness of a beating heart. Her eyes fell upon the conjured object reverently. She caressed the fire tenderly, shielding it from the rest of the world. Her lip curled into a gentle smile.

Then, without warning, the purple coloring bled from the heart, leaving it gray and lifeless. Her affectionate countenance had died along with it, replaced by unwavering steel and rigid lines that formed a pseudo-scowl.

She clenched her hand, dispersing the fire-heart instantly in her fist. Small motes of dull light flickered around her face as she stared at Perseus. "Compare that same hopeful emotion to the escalating apathy you carry for your father. There is no greater crime in the family dynamic than holding apathy toward a close relative. Love, hate, envy, hubris, patience, sadness, charity… these things, while not all positive, embody how complex the structure of a family can become. These sentiments—these instincts—are what should flow in the familial bond, no matter how fractured. Apathy, though? Apathy is death. Apathy is denial. Apathy is no _true_ emotion or state of being. Those apathetic to the world have no right living in it. This is the only truth that I accept. It is the faith I hold in my heart, what I strive for. I want to end apathy, and what better time, than when it begins to root itself deep in an individual?"

"Was that a threat?" Perseus asked. He took a step back and held his hands up, his trophy still grasped tightly. "Look, I didn't come here to fight and I don't really know what you're talking about, Lady Vesta. We might've gotten started on the wrong foot, though, right? I mean, I don't even know who my fath-"

"Don't insult the influence I hold over my domain," the goddess snipped. "I've spent thousands of years using it to my content. You haven't even been alive a fraction of that time. Who are you to tell me what I do and don't know when it comes to family bonds? Let me say it, if you can't answer. You are Perseus Jackson, a seventeen-year-old half-blood son of Iapetus, who thinks far too highly of himself. Do you think that your words and expressions of false modesty and warmth will fool me? If so, your arrogance can rival that of my youngest brother and my father. You have no right to play the expert between us."

Words echoing in the temple, an unease seeped into his bones as Perseus frowned. He dropped his arms and took Impetus between two fingers. "So you do know. I guess that makes it both infinitely easier and infinitely harder to get out of this temple alive. What'll you do now? I'm the child of a Titan, your enemies since time immemorial to us mortals. You gonna kill me? Or do you have something else planned?"

Across from him, Vesta's burning eyes locked onto his, harsh and intimidating in their hardness. "Kill you? For being the son of a father who you clearly feel little-to-nothing for? No, I won't do that. Such a cruel punishment for something that was never even viable. As I said, your only crime has embedded its gangrenous claws inside of your psyche deeper than I can undo in a short amount of time. Killing you wouldn't do any good if I wanted to help. Instead, I'll try to impart some wisdom onto you, in hopes that you nurture the seedling under rays of sunshine."

There was an awkward pause where he waited to hear what she had to say. After a few seconds, he cleared his throat. "Uh, were you going to tell me ooorrrr…?"

"You still hold the sacrifice in your hand, yet you have made no attempt to offer it to me," she noted, gesturing to the pelt. Her eyes narrowed. "Here you stand in my temple, having an audience with me, yet you forgo propriety for your own sake. You care for little except yourself. You are selfish and manipulative, with barely noticeable—if somewhat growing—regard for other people. Therefore, I will not help you out of my own kindness or compassion. You simply haven't earned that from me. The love you feel for your mother is a big start, however, that doesn't give you the right to ignore basic human decency toward others. This is a business transaction, plain and simple. Give me the pelt, and I'll tell you what you need to hear."

"I always figured my attitude might bite me in the ass," he chuckled forcefully. With some hesitance, he tossed the Nemean Lion's hide into the hearth behind Vesta. The fire swallowed the golden fur, leaving nothing behind in its wake.

When he looked back at Vesta, he was surprised to see that she'd gotten shorter. In fact, she looked no more than a ten-year-old girl would, dressed up in a brown robe. Her eyes still burned brightly though, leaving him with no doubt that her power wasn't particularly diminished in any way. Still, something about her felt different, far more familiar than her previous form. She was actually kind of adorable.

"Uh, Lady Vesta?"

"Hestia, in this form. I must apologize for my previous behavior," the goddess said, glancing away and into the fireplace. "My Roman aspect can be quite… matronly at times. Understand, she was always the more disciplinarian between the two of us. While I agree with many of her sentiments about your growing apathy, I'm willing to see your sacrifice as a step in the right direction."

"Not sure I follow…"

"You see, we must all make sacrifices to see our goals, hopes, and ambitions come to fruition. Sacrifice is an integral part of any family, and truly, of any community and society. Whether it be individual sacrifice or sacrifice en masse, it all plays a role in furthering hope. We gods so rarely sacrifice things. You humans tend to sacrifice almost everything," Hestia's voice was wistful and soaked in mourning. "Choosing which I prefer, I would easily say it was the beauty of humans and their sacrifices. The act of relinquishing control is difficult, I know. Thus, it is in these moments that we tend to grow the most, learning deeper aspects of ourselves than we might have originally known. I see potential for incredible things in you; yet, I also see vague instances of horrible tragedies."

"And is there a way to only get the incredible part? I'd like to skip the whole 'tragedy' thing if I could," Perseus asked warily, scratching his head. "I mean, we're Greek, so we do tragedy really well… but isn't it a little cliché by this point in time? Where're the plays about the heroes who win and don't suffer too much? I'd like to read those ones more often."

Hestia gave him a sad smile. "If it were only so easy. But that kind of story wouldn't be entertaining to us, would it? You and I both know that much. Only when we feel a relation between ourselves and the hero, can we truly become invested in their journey. Our mythologies and stories all reflect life; along with whatever comes packaged inside. Pain, sorrow, suffering, despair, happiness, content, love, hope. Without these, our lives would be nothing. We would all be afflicted by apathy, and with that, we would all die a true, lonely death."

Taking a few moments to digest what he'd been confronted with, he jerked out a nod. There was a certain dismissal in Hestia's tone, which suggested that she'd finished speaking with him. Even so, he opted to give her something that she wanted, which also happened to fall into line with information he held interest in.

"Can you tell me about my father?"

His question lingered in the air. In the hearth, the fire had changed color from deep violet back to orange. He almost took her silence as an answer, grimacing at the prospect of a missed opportunity, only to stop from turning around when the goddess responded, "Yes."

He gave a brief sigh of relief. "I don't wanna take up too much of your time. I guess I'd like to know what he was like, and if you knew him personally?"

"Personally? Well, I wouldn't call it very personal, no," she said, shaking her head. "My father swallowed me two weeks after my birth, giving me just enough time to form memories. Once he realized that I was a goddess, not a Titanide, he panicked. Understandable, if somewhat foolish. Him devouring his children only enforced our desire to overthrow him for his tyranny. Anyway, I do recall seeing my uncle on Othrys, occasionally visiting my parents. He brought me a gift, actually. A weapon that I haven't used since the Titanomachy."

"You remember all that since the time you were a couple of weeks old? Crazy."

Hestia's lip curled slightly as she spoke. "Oh yes… about that. Father was never good with young children, you see. He tried to age me with his chronokinesis, so he could skip those years of parenting. I recall my mother being quite irate with him when she found out. That was perhaps the only time I remember seeing my father looking scared and abashed at the same time."

"Wow. Never would've guessed," he snickered.

"As I was saying, Uncle Iapetus would visit us every so often, being the only one apart from Uncle Hyperion and Uncle Koios to actually do so. The latter two were pleasant enough, even though I do think Uncle Hyperion was a little off-put that I could control fire better than he could at my age. Uncle Koios and Uncle Iapetus would always poke fun at him when they were teaching me how to walk, saying that one day, I would become the new Fire of the Titans, if he couldn't keep up with me."

Seeing the distant stare she held, along with her smile, Perseus couldn't help but comment, "Those sound like memories you really treasure."

Hestia cleared her throat pleasantly. "I'm sorry. You asked about your father, and all I've given you are the jaded recollections of an old woman. About Uncle Iapetus… he was blunt, that much I remember. He could be very… soft… too, though. He cared about his siblings, about his family. At least, I think he did. At the same time, I also recall that he could be extremely cruel, torturing the creations of his son, your half-brother, Prometheus, just because he wanted to let off aggression. Not only that, but I know that Uncle Iapetus was disappointed that Prometheus chose to waste his talents on things other than fighting. He, as an Elder Titan, was raised on violence, and no doubt wanted his sons to follow in his footsteps. I once heard him raising his concerns over the fact that none of his sons truly took after him."

"Can't really say I'm not disappointed in hearing that," he sighed in dejection. Bringing unnecessary pain onto people was never really his thing. He'd rather finish things quickly than draw it out. "Before I go, can you tell me about when you fought him?"

"How did you know about that?" she asked, tilting her head curiously. "Actually, that must sound like a silly question. Uncle Iapetus probably wouldn't have hidden the truth from your mother."

"I suppose in a way I can be grateful for that," he said. "Him being so forthright, I mean."

"Yes, well, I don't think now is the right time to tell you about the first war," Hestia said. "Instead, I'll leave it as a reward for your success in bringing back those Imperial gold weapons. As it stands, I've spent quite some time with you, and providing too much assistance might upset the strands of Destiny. Additionally, I'm sure before the quest is over you'll require my help once again; though this time, it will need to be much more direct."

Expressing his disappointment, he nodded. "Guess that's just the way it's gotta be then. Alright, thanks for your time, Lady Hestia. I suppose I should get going and grab something to eat before we head off."

"Ah, just one last thing. A warning, actually. Beware the monster of three, for in it, you shall find your greatest test. I fear that in the end, you will both succeed and fail. Times are changing for the worst. Even so, I have faith in you, dear cousin."

Perseus listened intently, a frown being drawn once she'd finished speaking. "I see. I'll keep everything that you've told me today—from both of your aspects, actually—in mind for the future. Thanks again, cousin."

Hestia smiled, a melancholic but nonetheless warm expression, and disappeared in a wisp of fire. With the temple empty, there was nothing left for him. His footsteps brought the only noise.

The hearth burned strong. Somehow, knowing his goddess of a cousin was putting her faith in him helped warmed him more than the fire.

 **[[AaMT]]**

"Without a doubt, it's gotta be Paparazzi."

"Huh? No way, definitely Poker Face."

Perseus steepled his fingers, staring hard at the object of his newfound ire. The uneven drone of metal wheels on metal tracks filled the room, dull reverberations that served to fill the train's carriages with white noise. His glare intensified quickly, only serving to make Jason more indignant than before. Off to his left he heard Reyna sigh heavily.

"Only a few of hours in and we're already fighting? Are we really supposed to be the best hope for Camp Jupiter?" she asked, covering her eyes with a hand. "Why'd I agree to come along?"

"Because Jason's here?"

Reyna seemed to ponder it for a second, opening her eyes to look at Jason, then to Perseus, who watched her with amusement. He could practically see the wheels turning over in her mind as she tried to find his angle. Ever since they'd left camp the divide between them had been basically palpable. It was somewhat endearing to see her trying so hard to figure him out. On the other hand, he wished his original plan had gone over smoothly.

"I suppose you could say something like that," she said slowly. "Pairing you two up just screams trouble. I guess I'll have to be a buffer against the problems that'll eventually come up."

Jason forced out a laugh. "It can't be that bad, right? I mean, we have our differences, but we aren't _that_ dysfunctional."

"Speak for yourself," Perseus said, pulling the glare back onto his face. "Paparazzi, easily the best song on that album."

"No… it really isn't. Poker Face is so much better," the son of Jupiter retorted, shaking his head.

"Paparazzi!"

"Poker Face!"

" _Paparazzi!"_

" _Poker Face!"_

"That's it! I'm gonna throw you off this fucking train so help me gods!"

"C'mon and try it then! I was disappointed we couldn't test each other in the coliseum, so this'll take the edge off!"

Reyna stood up and pushed Perseus away from Jason, forcing him to sit back down on the bottom bunk of their bedroom suite. The suite was actually just two regular bedrooms in the train that had an opening door between them, which could expand the space for a family who might want to feel together. Each room had two bunks that extended from the back wall and a lone seat by the side wall with a view of the passing scenery via one square window. A toilet and shower were also provided for convenience.

If it hadn't been for Jason manipulating the Mist at the train station, they never would've been able to get such nice accommodations, let alone _pay_ for traveling in luxury. Perseus supposed there was merit in having the blond in many situations. It was like having a swiss army knife at the ready.

"Both of you need to calm down," Reyna demanded angrily. She pushed a finger up to Jason's chest. "I expected better from you. You're a centurion of the Fifth Cohort, carrying the spirit of our ancestors with you into the new era, a senator of New Rome, and one of our greatest fighters. Act like it!"

Jason wilted a little in the face of her reprimands, tilting his head down to stare at the carpet. "Uh… sorry."

She whirled around and jabbed her finger into Perseus' face. "And you!"

"Who? Me?" he asked, looking around before gesturing to himself helplessly. "What'd I do?"

"Stop provoking him! I don't know how you acted before you were put under our command, but while you're in the Fifth, I do expect some level of decorum from you, got it?" Her eyes burned into his, somewhat impressing him that her anger finally outweighed her fear. "I swear, you're one of the most infuriating people I've ever met."

He nodded sagely. "I won't deny that I like provoking him. Still, we've gotta find _some_ way to pass the time. I just happened to take the initiative for my own sake. On top of that, I _will_ protect Lady Gaga and the best of her music from slanderous lies."

A lull in the conversation fell about them. Jason and Reyna looked at one another, having some form of silent communication which he couldn't quite decode.

The room smelled like a freshly used laundry room, full of heavily perfumed materials to hide whatever else might have lurked beneath the brightness. An artificial white light illuminated each corner, casting darker shadows beneath the scant furnishings, forcing a visual contrast that made him think of old books he'd once read about human nature and its duality.

He looked between his two centurions. Everybody had changed into whatever nightwear they'd brought along, which meant similar pajama bottoms that Reyna bought at a store a few blocks from the train station in Emeryville. Both Reyna and Jason wore their purple camp shirts, while Perseus had brought a dark gray long-sleeve.

Reyna stood up and broke the tension that had weighed on them, her expression tired. "Goodnight, you two. Don't make me come in here to break up any fights." She walked into the other bedroom and closed the door. Her final warning lingered, a promise of violence if he'd ever heard one.

Jason glanced at him. "Guess we shouldn't push her right now. This quest might be making her a bit more anxious than normal."

"You mean she doesn't always act that way? Wow, what a surprise," Perseus drawled. He stretched out and pointed at the top bunk. "Well, either way, you get top bunk."

"Huh? Who said you get to choose things like that?"

"Might makes right."

Shaking his head, Jason heaved himself up to the suspended mattress and lay back. "Whatever. Let's get some sleep. It's been a rough day."

Perseus rounded the small room, flicking the light-switch before falling onto his own bed. Without light the sound of rumbling and the occasional shift where enhanced in an almost eerie manner. He closed his eyes.

As the minutes slowly worked by, a slow chill crept up his spine when he thought back to what Hestia had told him. Monster of three was a vague reference that he didn't understand. The chimera had three heads, although he'd killed it not too long ago. The hydra had nine heads, which meant three groups of three. Geryon had three bodies or something like that, and Cerberus could also be applied to the statement. Those were literal monsters of three, though, and the amount of symbolic meanings the warning carried could have been infinite in his mind, if not truly in the world.

He sighed.

"Can't sleep?" Jason asked from above.

He let the question hang for several seconds. Eventually, he sighed even louder than before. "What do you think we're gonna have to deal with on this quest?"

The son of Jupiter hummed thoughtfully. "I couldn't even guess. As long as we don't have to fight a Titan, I think I'll be okay with anything, though."

"A Titan, huh?"

"Hm… are you nervous?"

"Positively shaking. I feel the sudden urge to cuddle up with my security blanket."

"Sarcasm aside."

"No, I was serious to the max. If only I still had the Nemean Lion pelt, I might feel a little better. Woe is me."

"Oh, sure, because the deadpan, flatline delivery of your words _really_ gave me that kind of impression," Jason's tone had become dry. "Truthfully, we'll either have a ton of monsters coming after us… or we'll barely have any at all. That's the perk of being in a group of demigods who give off such powerful scents. Alone, we might smell like a good snack. Together, we probably smell like a great dinner, although only the strongest monsters will try to attack us. At least, that's how it used to be. Nowadays they've gotten bolder, probably getting all riled up what with Saturn returned and basically handing out food stamps to them."

"I can understand you having a strong scent, but Reyna and I?"

"When I first met her, she was fighting off a bunch of giant scorpions on the highway," Jason explained. "Bellona isn't quite as revered as Jupiter, Pluto, or Mars, but she definitely has a heavy amount of influence in our culture. We give tribute to her when we make war, hoping for good fortune and courage in the face of death. Bellona never really got along with Pluto, you see. Old rivalries. Reyna is strong; always has been."

Perseus chuckled. "Gotcha. And me? The necklace my father left behind kept me hidden for years, so I haven't been attacked too much."

"Well… you seem strong… so I'm just guessing that you smell pretty good to monsters. You said the Chimera attacked you, although it might have been a coincidence, like most of your other encounters..."

"Yeah. Hey, something's been bothering me for a few days. You bringing up strength kinda reminded me…"

"What?"

"Why haven't you mentioned trying to become praetor? I mean, I've already heard talk from some people that Octavian is starting to make his move for the position," Perseus kept his voice from sounding eager. Now that he and Jason were alone, on a quest that would place their trust on the line, there was no better time to create an opportunity for himself. He just needed to get the oddly mature blond to start talking, indicating an opening to exploit. The time was almost perfect. All he had to do was play it right. "Wouldn't it be smart to at least show that you're interested in the praetorship?"

A small noise came from above him, as if his officer had tried to say something only to choke on his tongue.

He waited impatiently, tapping a finger against his chest rhythmically, almost counting the seconds while they slipped by, never to return. The underlying problem with confidence was larger than he'd originally anticipated if it took Jason so long to respond. He'd have to work around that, though it would probably have to be indirect. Maybe mentioning it to Reyna in passing, so that she could whip the king into shape.

Those two were close. Nothing so far to indicate symbiosis, but they were certainly helping one another become better people, anybody could tell. It was one of the main reasons why so many people in camp talked about those two becoming involved in a romantic relationship. It wasn't uncommon to see constructive partnerships based around such an idealistic format, especially given the day and age, and the culture of the United States. Individualism, personal success, technological progress, freedom, equality, and democracy. Core values that created society as it was known. It was easy to see why they were so admired. He himself found those concepts worth adopting.

 _ **E**_ **vE** _ **n - - -**_ **t** _ **h**_ **OU** _ **gH -..**_ **he** _ **\- - ... - K**_ _nE_ _ **W**_

 _ **tH**_ _e … .-. … …_ **OUTCOME**

 _ **......was.........**_

 _ **sti**_ _ll_ _\- – - - - -_ _ **death**_ **!** _ **!**_ _ **!**_

Even though he knew the outcome was still death.

Perseus lurched forward and grabbed his head. A wave of nausea rolled over his stomach, nearly forcing him to vomit. His face felt hot, hands clammy and damp with sweat, breaths coming in strained and embattled squeezes of his diaphragm. The world spun around him and worsened the queasiness that he felt.

' _Was that…!?'_

Unable to stay upright, he collapsed back onto the bed, keeping his dinner down and settled in place.

"I just don't think I'd be best to lead, you know?" Jason finally said lightly. It was a blatant and easily discernible attempt to hide his insecurity behind the delivery of his sentence, one so lacking in tact that it managed to cull the tumult in Perseus' stomach. "Even though I don't like Octavian too much, he's got a good way with words. Times like these need a steadfast figure that can calm the masses."

"Lame. Try again," Perseus called back, careful to hide the hitch in his throat.

"What?"

"That was a bad lie. You don't actually think that Octavian can be a better leader than you. No, I think you're trying to convince yourself that you'd be better off letting somebody else take the position… and you know what else?… I think its because you let yourself get so wrapped up in what happened last summer. Are you afraid to take responsibility? Do you think that others are gonna lose confidence in you should you fail? I haven't known you for long, but even when I was in school, I hated that mindset. Those behaviors always got on my nerves. They were small back then, taking on the characteristics of the boring situations that were common in the mundane world. Still, it's not like I can't see that same thing happening here, with you, on a much more serious level."

Putting a bit more emphatic color in his voice, Perseus continued his tirade. "If Octavian gets elected, then what do you think is gonna happen? _I_ think that Reyna is gonna try to become praetor as well, in hopes of representing some of your influence in the camp. _But…_ once that happens, I doubt they'll get things done efficiently. If they can't get along, eventually they'll fracture from each other's direction they want the camp to take. Once they get people backing them, there'll be open fighting between parties. The camp will split from the inside out. The best choice is for both you and Reyna to stick together. At least, that's my opinion on the matter. I have faith in both of you, even if I like to make your lives harder. You guys have my support, one-hundred percent of the way."

He knew he could have worded things better, perhaps added more subtlety, but he was still having a hard time gathering his thoughts properly, the world passing by in a haze. He cursed his luck, knowing that he'd performed suboptimally in a situation ripe with opportunity.

"I… I guess you aren't wrong," Jason admitted hesitantly. "Let me think about it."

"It's not just me, either." Perseus went about putting the final words into action. Like a sword poised over the heart, dealing the final blow to a wounded enemy on the battlefield out of a sense of corrupted obligation and duty. "There are plenty of people who would rather see you take the praetorship. I'm sure they're all waiting for your announcement. They also put their hopes for the future with you. You really are… an inspiring guy."

Rolling over, he pulled the covers over his body, content with how he'd ended. When Jason didn't answer him, he knew the sword had found its target. A win, finally.

 **[[AaMT]]**

His left knee touched the cold stone floor and he bowed his head, not daring to look into the golden eyes of his king.

Green fires cast a sickly glow across the dark room, poisoning the air and making the air feel colder than it should have been. The presence of three Elder Titans all in one confined area, staring down at him from their position up on high sent his nerves buzzing. His father, he knew, was standing next to his king, and his Uncle Iapetus was there too, judging with those incredibly steely eyes that could put even his brothers on edge.

"Rise, Pallas, for we have a mission to issue you," the Titan Lord said.

Pallas did as he was told, not wanting to anger the historically volatile Ruler of the Cosmos. His hand twitched when he met the gleaming eyes of his king as he stood up. He glanced at his uncle, whose expression hadn't changed since Pallas had arrived in the throne room. His father, on the other hand, seemed nervous, which didn't help in the slightest degree.

"My king," Pallas once again bowed his head. "How can I be of service?"

"Do you hear that, Krios? Your son now seems to want to follow my orders," Kronos said with a sneer. Even though the Titan Lord was inhabiting the body of a mortal—Luke Castellan something or other—his voice held hints of the nigh indomitable power he once commanded. How the Olympians had ever won the first Titanomachy still plagued Pallas' mind, when the Titans themselves were so incredible.

"It would appear to be so, my lord," his father replied. "It gladdens my heart to hear such."

Kronos leaned his head against a fist, slouching on his throne, narrowing his eyes dangerously. "Yet, when I asked him to kill his children during the first war, he defied me, allowing them to leave Othrys, practically _giving_ the Olympians new allies! Nike, Kratos, Zelos, and Bia… those thrice-damned minor gods becoming a major hurdle in defeating my youngest son! Pallas, you failed me. I commanded you to slay them and that treacherous wife of yours, Styx, but you allowed compassion to control your actions. Tell me, what should I do to those who disobey me? I can't have insubordination among my army, now can I? As the Titan of Warfare, you must know this well."

Pallas swallowed hard, his eyes flickering to the scythe that leaned against the throne where Kronos sat.

"Brother, you might be acting a little too harshly, don't you think?" Iapetus asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked unimpressed. "When our children sided with _yours_ , can you really blame us for-"

Kronos stood and drove his fist into Iapetus' cheek. The older Titan barely flinched, hardly staggered by the blow. He rubbed his cheek tenderly and shook his head softly. "Don't exert yourself in that body, brother. You can't harm me with your fists and kicks, like when you were younger and threw your childish tantrums when mother gave the rest of us more attention."

Pallas cringed when his lord grabbed the scythe and swung it down toward his uncle's head.

In the space of a breath, Iapetus had already unsheathed the sword by his waist and intercepted the strike, using the angular fishtail pommel to catch the edge of Kronos' scythe cleanly. It was an unorthodox way of blocking, but Pallas had never known anybody to hold more talent in wielding weapons than Iapetus. The two brothers looked at one another, golden eyes burning with anger and silver eyes staring listlessly.

Around them, the air warbled as their respective power output increased. It was soon made apparent, however, that the Titan Lord outclassed his brother by a massive proportion. In response, Iapetus let his sword arm loosen, causing Kronos to lose his footing and pass right by him in an ungraceful stumble. The elder slapped Kronos on the back as he went past. With distance created, he slid his sword back into its scabbard carelessly.

"You still have a lot to learn when it comes to handling your scythe," Iapetus remarked blandly. "I can help train you, if you want."

Pallas looked toward his father, who was fidgeting slightly from where he stood, seemingly torn between intervening and simply staying out of harm's way.

He licked his lips, which had become dry at witnessing his uncles' confrontation. Two strong beings, one holding gargantuan quantities of raw power, the other having unparalleled and impossible to replicate skill. Additionally, Iapetus was born with the fastest reaction time between all Elder Titans, being able to interpret visual, audio, and tactile stimuli in conjunction with planning his motor functions so quickly that he was _still_ undefeated in single combat after tens of thousands of years. None had ever bested Iapetus when the bout was between individuals, even when other deities were arguably more powerful.

It had been shocking to hear of his defeat in the first war. Shocking and infuriating and saddening all at once. Uncle Iapetus had been tricked! It hadn't been a fair battle. Those damned Olympians had lured him into a trap, and took advantage of their numbers to overwhelm his poor uncle. Still, it had been good to hear that Uncle Iapetus had delivered such damage to Demeter and Hestia that they'd been unable to fight for over a year. Pallas would never forget the sweet feel of revenge upon learning of his uncle's posthumous victory.

The Titan of Mortality had always been a role-model for Pallas. He'd spent many nights during his younger decades imitating the fighting style of his favorite uncle, even trying to mimic the stone-cold stare that would often send shivers down his spine.

He glanced worriedly at Kronos, only to find himself surprised when the Titan Lord straightened himself and cracked half of a smile.

"I suppose I should be glad that you've decided to join us then," Kronos said, sitting down on his throne once more, resting the scythe across his lap. "With you fighting with your siblings, we'll win for certain this time! We'll tear Olympus down, brick by brick, cast those children of mine off their mighty thrones, and carve them into pieces, like Zeus did to me. None can stand against our might now!

Pallas! I'm in an agreeable mood, thanks to my dearest brother Iapetus. I will forgive your past transgressions against me. However, it cannot be known that the king refuses to punish those who go against him. As such, I have a job for you."

Nodding his head, Pallas clenched his hand. "I'll do it without complaint, my lord!"

"Good, good." Kronos reached into the front pocket of his shirt and withdrew a piece of paper. He unfolded it and held it up. "An expedition from the Roman camp has been brought to our attention. Our information details that a party of three has set out for South Carolina, under orders of Hest-… _Vesta…_ to retrieve a large cache of Imperial gold weapons at Fort Sumter. The demigods sent are Jason Grace, son of _Jupiter_ ; Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano, daughter of Bellona; and Perseus Jackson, of unknown parentage. You will go to this location, Charleston, and wait for them there. Bring Grace and the girl back alive. Kill the remainder."

While it felt demeaning to be told his job was focused on mortals, Pallas didn't speak against the order. Instead he asked, "Is our information reliable?"

Kronos folded the paper and tossed it his way. "We have a source directly in Camp _Jupiter_. They wouldn't dare mislead me."

"The two you want captured-"

"Will be detained here, in Othrys, under close guard. Are you going to stand there and continue asking questions, or will you do as you are told? Was I wrong to place my trust in you again, Pallas?" the king asked, tapping a finger against his scythe impatiently.

"Of course not. I simply wanted to understand the situation a bit better. Warfare can be won or lost on information, as you know," Pallas responded, feeling confidence return to him knowing that Kronos was relying on his success.

"I see. Well, I suppose I should warn you that I've already made arrangements in advance to deal with the questing party. They may ever reach your new position alive. It would be unfortunate should the son of _Jupiter_ and the daughter of Bellona die. Unfortunate, but nonetheless profitable. Either way, if they do make it to Charleston, you will do as you are told. We will prove to the Olympians and their allies that their time is over. Our power can no longer be denied! Our right to rule is all but assured!"

Pallas nodded, but before he could teleport away, his uncle called to him.

"Make sure not to underestimate your opponents. Fight them with everything you have. Show no mercy, even if they _are_ just a ragtag group of adolescent demigods," Iapetus said, his tone leaving no room for rebuttal. "I know you've only recently reformed and aren't quite at full strength, but I'm counting on you, Pallas. This will make for a good test. A learning experience. Show them the true might of a Titan."

"I will take your words to heart, uncle," he replied. How a group of demigods would prove to be a good test was beyond him. Either way, Iapetus wasn't one to speak idly, so Pallas would do his best. He wouldn't fail his family.

Never again.

 **[[AaMT]]**

Perseus dreamed that he was soaring.

His body was weightless as he flew through the air, unworried with the thoughts of falling to the ground. He was light, free, uncontrolled by fear or anger or sadness or pain. All he could feel was cold air against his skin and the sensation of his heart racing wildly. Nothing could tie him down again. He was, for the first time in his life, free of consequence and responsibility.

And then, his short flight ended with agony. His left side impacted something that didn't budge, forcing him out of what he once thought was a dream. Eyes snapping open, he managed to catch a glimpse of his world spinning, throwing him around again, his skull smashing against the… wall?… ceiling?… floor?… Jason?… so hard that his vision went stark red. Pain exploded into his senses, sending a jolt of adrenaline through his body and giving him enough clarity to shield his head from further damage.

Loud screeching—metal being torn and bent—filled his ears, along with unearthly groaning that reminded him of a movie he'd seen where a plane had been ripped in half. Again, he was rammed into an immovable object, this time on his back. His breath was knocked clean from his lungs and the area by his left—right?—shoulder felt like someone had nailed him with the edge of a brick.

He gasped for air.

He could only see in broken patches of hexagonal images.

His body ached horribly.

His ears rang loudly.

He tasted blood.

Wishing he could simply stay still forever, Perseus blinked harshly and unwound himself from his fetal position. Part of him protested, citing that it was best to stay down and assess his condition before trying to exert himself. He shut that part up.

"J-Ja-J-JA-… f-f-f-fuck-ckin'… J-J-JAS-son…" He struggled to stutter out the name of his centurion as he stood on shaky legs. The cabin was more or less intact from whatever had happened, although the car had been tipped onto its side, seeing as he was standing on the wall instead of the floor.

"What… ugh… what happened? Perseus!? Reyna!?" Jason's voice shouted back in response, dazed and confused.

Crawling over his bed to reach where he heard the voice, Perseus saw his clothing splayed out on the wall, the closet having come open during the incident. Jason was sprawled out, rubbing his head and trying to pick himself up. Blood flowed freely down the left side of his face from a deep cut on his forehead. A few pieces of glass from the window had also found purchase in his arm, where small trails of blood formed.

Perseus quickly grabbed his jeans and yanked them over his pajamas, ignoring the discomfort of wearing two sets of pants. He then did the same with his shoes. His right shoulder blade throbbed, white-hot fire billowing from the area each time he moved it. The bone might have been broken, or perhaps a muscle shredded. He walked over to Jason and offered his left hand.

"T-Thanks."

He nodded and hauled the son of Jupiter to his feet. "Thank… thank me later. Let's… um… let's check to see if Reyna's okay."

They made their way to the door that separated the two bedrooms on unstable feet.

Once there, Perseus reared his leg back, and kicked the door. It yielded without so much as a grumble, crashing open on the first attempt.

He ducked and entered Reyna's room, finding her sitting upright against the ceiling, biting into a rolled up shirt tightly. She glanced up at him, then back down to her hand, where she was gripping her index and middle fingers, both of which were bent to the side at a moderate angle. With care, she pulled the fingers back to their natural positions.

"Reyna! Oh gods, you okay?" Jason asked, rushing to her side.

' _She looks like shit, dude. Why're you even asking that?'_

A long gash crossed her cheek, painting some of her jaw red. Her hair was messy and matted, sticking up in some places. There must have been another injury on her scalp, because blood ran down her temple and ear. The light in her room flickered on and off, casting the sweat that glistened on her face to attention.

"Where's the… first aid stuff?"

Reyna spat out the shirt, heaving a cracked cough. "Jason… please use your eyes."

Walking over to the dark green backpack only a few feet away, Perseus brought it to where the two centurions were. They'd packed a fairly large amount of medicine, ranging from the godly variety of ambrosia, nectar, and unicorn draught, to the mundane of bandages and disinfectant.

"What're ya buyin'?" he asked in a gruff, croaky voice, opening the pack to reveal its contents. "Got meself a special… today on unicorn draught. T'at… crap tastes like lizard piss and… and reeks like a two-week-old carcass out in tha' sun, but it'll fix ya up faster than Roadrunner on cocaine."

Reyna rolled her eyes, though a soft chortle escaped her lips. "Just give me the… the ambrosia, you ass."

Handing her what she wanted, he closed the bag and gave it over to Jason. Slowly, he felt his brain start to piece together the situation, the slight daze wearing thin. "We should find a way out of the train. Somehow, I doubt that this was just a coincidence. We're probably being targeted."

"Good idea," Reyna said, getting to her feet with help from her fellow centurion. She shook her head and blinked heavily. "Whatever attacked us is probably still around. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can avoid confrontation. I'm not gonna be using my right hand anytime soon, plus I feel lightheaded. How are you guys holding up?"

Jason wiped some blood from his eye and looked down at his arm. "Feeling… pretty woozy. My arm hurts and its hard to see out of my right eye. I can fight, though. Perse… Per… agh… Per-cy, how about you?"

"Who the fuck is called Percy around here?"

"I kinda like it," Reyna interrupted, eyes scanning the room. "It's short and sweet, but keeps to the original sound."

Perseus sighed loudly and tried to rotate his shoulder, only to grimace when his brain argued vehemently against such an action. "My right shoulder's banged up to shit. Can hardly move it. Might be broken or something, I don't know."

"If it's that bad you should take something," Reyna turned to him, gesturing for Jason to open the bag. She handed him some ambrosia, then stuffed some into Jason's mouth. "We can't have two-thirds of our group playing the tough guy on this quest. Especially not when a fight might be literally just around the corner."

Swallowing his small square, Perseus took Othisi from his pocket, transforming it into a spear. "Let's not wait to find an exit. We can just make one." He knew that it would take some time for his shoulder to be back in action if it were broken, even with the food of the gods supplementing his healing.

With that, he walked over to the ceiling and rammed the spearhead through the moderately thick material, using his left arm exclusively. The metal roofing was more than likely only a centimeter at most, though other substances were used between that and the inner walls. Yanking Impetus out, he stabbed forward again, this time a few inches lower than before.

"Is that really the best way to go about this?" Jason asked as Perseus continued his work.

"Yup," he grunted back, not stopping as he gradually made his way around in a small square shape, each stab cutting more of the shape out of the train's roof. After a few minutes, he stepped back and asked the others to stand next to him. "Alright, on the count of three, we all kick the inner square. It should pop out if I did this right. Ready? One, two, three!"

As one, they arched forward and collectively drove the bottom of their feet into the weakened structure.

"Wow… can't believe that actually worked," Reyna said, sounding somewhat impressed.

Perseus shot her a look. "O ye of little faith."

He went first, exiting through the gap that was just large enough to fit his body through. Once out, he helped Jason, then Reyna, as they left the interior of the train car. It was dark outside, the night sky being speckled with shimmering starlight and a waxing moon. Looking around, it became apparent that they were more than likely in a desert. Further down the railroad was the rest of the train, derailed and crumpled, with fire billowing out of a few cars.

Behind the fire, he could see what had caused the tragedy. Partially illuminated by the orange flames, a massive serpent rose its front twenty feet into the air. Its body was almost as thick as a train car, with scales that looked like they could stop missiles. Large yellow eyes scanned the area, casting their color where it looked. Around the serpents base, a large conglomeration of kitten-sized insects gathered, fluttering their filmy wings and blowing fire at the overturned train cars.

"Shit."

"That about sums it up," Reyna said, taking slow steps back. "We can't stay here. We're in no shape to try and fight off that snake and those tiny dragons."

Jason shook his head, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. "There are people on the train. We can't just leave!" he said desperately. He reached into his pajama bottom pocket and pulled out his gold coin. "We have to save them!"

Perseus stared incredulously. "No, we don't. Jason, think for a second. None of us are in a good way right now. That snake alone could probably deal with us as we are. I can't really use my right arm, Reyna's got a bum hand and a probable concussion, and you've gone fucking crazy apparently."

The son of Jupiter spun around and yanked Perseus forward by the shirt. "Are you really just going to leave them for dead? Those are innocent people… there were kids on that train… we can't… it's… it's not what a hero would do."

"Jason… please. I know how you feel, but this… this situation is beyond us," Reyna pleaded, grabbing his shoulders and guiding him away from Perseus. "We can't save everybody all of the time. It's just not possible."

"Then why do we even have these powers!? Why would we be gifted, if not to help the people who can't help themselves? Demigods are heroes, they always have been, and they should always try to be. How… how is it fair… when those people can't even defend themselves… when they don't even know what's going on!?"

"Demigods aren't born to be heroes," Perseus said, pulling the two centurions back even further, glancing worriedly at the monsters near the front of the train. There was a fair amount of distance between them, but he doubted the massive snake would have many problems catching up should it give chase. "They choose to be heroes. We don't have an obligation to help those people, alright? It's sad but true. We have a mission."

Jason struggled a little as he was moved away from the scene. Perseus could see the anger etched onto his face. He could tell that the matter wasn't going to be dropped anytime soon. If his centurion did something rash, it could very well mean the end of the quest.

"Let me go," the blond hissed dangerously, ripping himself free and taking steps back toward the train. "I'll do it myself if I have to."

Sprinting forward, Perseus pulled him back harshly, throwing him onto the ground. "Get a fucking grip! If you do this, we all die here. If we all die here, the quest ends, and it could damn well mean Kr-Saturn overwhelms Camp Jupiter. If that's the case, then we lose. Not just us, though. All of humanity. I doubt that Saturn is just gonna leave the status quo as is."

He watched as Jason pushed himself up. Thankfully, he couldn't hear any screaming, which would only have made his job more difficult in convincing Jason to leave. "As a centurion of Camp Jupiter, you've got an obligation to _them_ , right? This shit sucks, trust me, I get that. But we've gotta look at the bigger picture. Let's get out of here before that snake catches sight, okay?"

The struggle on Jason's face was easy to catch. Sighing, he moved in front of the younger demigod and struck out with his fist, catching Jason across the chin. He watched dispassionately as his officer fell back, unconscious from the blow. Hefting him up on his left shoulder, Perseus walked over to Reyna, who was biting her thumb.

"Let's go."

The girl nodded hesitantly, sending her fellow centurion a worried glance. "I'm sorry. I should've helped you make him see reason."

He didn't reply immediately, focusing on setting a decent pace. With the added weight of Jason's limp body, it was difficult to run or jog. Either way, as long as they left the area, hopefully they'd be safe for the foreseeable future. At least until they were healed and able to fight at their best.

"Don't worry about it. I'm sure it was hard for you to leave them too. I just hope that knocking him out won't be too bad for his health. He might've had a concussion too."

"We can give him some nectar once we get somewhere safe."

"How long will that take? Where the hell are we even going?"

Reyna shrugged. "Follow the railroad and we should eventually reach a town. If it's still dark, I guess that must mean we're somewhere in northeastern Nevada, since we left the station a little after four-thirty yesterday afternoon."

Perseus nodded, feeling the wind on his back. "We're heading downwind, which means those monsters won't be catching a good whiff of us. At least, I hope not."

For a few minutes, the trudged along in silence, occasionally casting glances back in the direction of the burning train, which grew further away. The snake wasn't visible anymore, which meant it had either left, or was searching the ruins for them. In a way, he hoped that the people inside the car would fill its appetite, so that it wouldn't find a reason to keep after him, Reyna, and Jason.

It was his superior who broke the silence first. "Would it be alright if I called you Percy?"

The question caught him slightly off-guard, considering that she hadn't seemed to pleased talking to him only the day prior. Even so, he welcomed the chance at continuing his work. "I mean… yeah… whatever. It's not _bad…_ it just obviously had no thought put into it."

She chuckled in response. "Sometimes, we can't overthink things. Sometimes… we've just gotta enjoy ourselves with what comes our way. I learned that a long time ago. In this case, I guess I'll just have to make do having you by my side. Not like it's a big deal, anyway. You're a soldier of the legion."

Perseus said nothing, shifting Jason a bit to push pressure off of a particular spot. His shoes kicked up some barely visible dust, crunching over a few rocks. In a way, he was sure that having his Nemean Lion duster would have fit the scenario, considering he was trekking across the desert.

Eventually, he replied with just about the only thing his tired brain could muster up.

"Well, if you're looking for a warrior… then I guess I'm your huckleberry."

* * *

 **A/N: I don't own the song 'Hallelujah' which was written by Leonard Cohen and that was played in the greatest meme movie of a generation… Shrek. Of course, I added the verses because of symbolic reasons, not because I recently played a drinking game with some friends watching Shrek, and almost cried when said song came on. Yeah, that wasn't an overly specific explanation at all.**


	8. I Can Feel an Angel Sliding up to Me

_**Review Response-**_

 **Death Fury: Thanks!**

 **Jet: I am going to add a romantic subplot, though I'm still contemplating who to pair Percy with. Gaea is probably going to keep propositioning him just because its pretty fun to write. I feel that nicknames can be a display of closeness and trust between people, since you probably wouldn't call somebody your not well acquainted with by a nickname unless they specifically tell you to. It's my own way of having him develop, considering that when the story is told through his perspective he still thinks of himself as Perseus, not Percy. It's a mindset that might change as the story progresses and his character is developed. Regarding Percy and Iapetus, they are going to have screen time together in the future, and I have plans for Iapetus to be more of a Dad toward Percy. Thanks for the feedback!**

 **lighwalnut64: I'm glad you're enjoying it.**

 **Guest: Thanks for your thoughts so far. I'll do my best to keep it up!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not make any money off this work of fanfiction. All rights for the characters in Percy Jackson and the Olympians and Heroes of Olympus go to Rick Riordan and all who were involved in the creation of the novels.**

* * *

8\. I Can Feel an Angel Sliding up to Me

* * *

By the time Reyna and Perseus—or rather going by Percy, through his own approval—walked into Wells, Nevada, haggard from trading Jason's unconscious form between them, the sun was just beginning to rise. After following the rail tracks for what felt like a hundred miles, they'd finally reached some sort of resting point. Reyna's fingers had healed over the time spent traveling. At least one thing to be thankful for, in her mind.

Even still, the night certainly hadn't gone well. They hadn't even made it halfway across the country. Their original plan of train hopping was shot to hell. Things had gone wrong basically from the start, which did nothing to ease Reyna's worries.

When she was in the coliseum, ready for another fun round of fighting with friends by her side, she'd been in a fairly good mood. True, her encounter with Percy the day before had been… unnerving… however, that had done little to dampen her personal spirits when he wasn't present. The day had been shaping up to be just one more festival that she could enjoy.

Unfortunately, as soon as Liz had stepped up to speak for the Vestales everything took a turn.

And so it was that she stood next to a grumpy looking son of who-knows-what-jerk-dad in front of a cheap motel on the outskirts of a quiet 'city'.

Percy had taken over Jason-holding duty recently, his right shoulder having apparently healed during their travel. That was another plus, in her book, considering how skilled of a fighter he was. Even though he could be annoying and immature at times—not to mention frighteningly… well… frightening—she couldn't deny his battle prowess.

' _Is he as good as me and Jason already?'_

The thought brought a sour taste to her mouth. She'd trained for years to get to her level. Not to mention some of her aptitude was in part due to her heritage. As a daughter of the Roman war goddess, for her to be anything less than spectacular at fighting would've been the penultimate insult for Bellona. The only thing that would top such a slight would have been if she began dating a child of Pluto.

At that point, her mother might outright disown her.

Still, the question lingered on how Percy had become so adept at fighting. Was it natural talent? It seemed like it, in Reyna's eyes.

Most demigods were decent fighters when they first started out. It came naturally to them by way of genetics. Percy, of course, wasn't most demigods and seemed to relish in such discrepancy. Not even having been claimed and already getting the attention of an important goddess such as Vesta. Being chosen for an important quest by said goddess, even while on probatio? Apparently, that was just par for the course in Percy's terms. It was almost as if he expected nothing less of himself. Too bad Reyna felt like she could never read him correctly, even when she did her best.

It was hard to trust the guy when he could swap between a giggling buffoon one moment and a steely-eyed tyrant the next. She'd never seen anybody change gears so quickly, so effortlessly, and so _genuinely_ ever before. When they'd first met in the principia, Reyna had rather quickly categorized him as nothing more than a schemer. Like another Octavian.

The following morning had brought him into new light. While she could still tell he was being dishonest about _something_ , she didn't think it was about his intentions at Camp Jupiter. He'd once told her that all he wanted from Camp Jupiter was to become a better fighter. He hadn't gone into specifics but it was a goal she could understand. One she could support, even. At the time his words had felt authentic.

Over the week she'd spent around him, it had become progressively easier to let her guard down and just look at him like another legionnaire.

Of course, his cold words during their last training session had managed to freeze her in their frigid delivery and connotation, forcing her to reevaluate Perseus Jackson on a more fundamental level. Those few sentences, acting like breadcrumbs to lead her closer. While the 'what' of her trail was easy to identify—nothing less than Percy's true motives—it was the 'how' that stumped her. Still, she'd promised herself to find out just _who_ Perseus Jackson was.

Then he'd gone ahead and saved her and her best friend's lives.

Truthfully, he hadn't needed to do it. He could've let Jason continue on his self-destructive route and just turned around. He could have very well walked away. Instead, he'd argued more than she had. Every second that he spent throwing words at Jason's thick skull was another he spent in danger of becoming snake food.

Sure, it wasn't like he sacrificed anything for Jason's well-being, but Reyna could respect how he went about handling the situation. When words had clearly weakened Jason's resolve, he'd executed an unexpected attack. It was an efficient move. At least, that's how Reyna would continue to view it. The tactic of words-to-fists may very well have been what kept them alive and—in equal importance—unified on their quest.

After all, if Percy had just knocked Jason out from the start, undoubtedly their relationship would've been strained to more than just 'schoolyard rivalry'. However, if he'd tried to use diplomacy exclusively during that situation, they'd probably have ended up… a little more than crispy.

' _I should have done more. Him acting the way he did probably saved Jason's life, maybe even mine. If Jason had gone to save those mortals… would I have followed?'_

She breathed a sigh and looked toward Percy. His eyes were drooping, dark purple rings formed underneath them. When was the last time he'd gotten a good night's rest?

With his naturally messy hair and some blood on his gray shirt from carrying Jason, he looked downright horrible.

That said, she knew her own appearance wasn't any better.

The buzzing lights followed them as they walked through the motel's front door.

"How're we gonna play this?" he asked, leaning in close to her. His breath tickled the back of her ear. "Can you do the Mist voodoo like Blue Jay?"

"Blue Jay?" she repeated. An involuntary smile crossed her lips. "That's a good one. Unfortunately, I can't manipulate the Mist as well as he can. I'll probably be able to get us a room without too many questions, though. Just hang back. Don't want to look like we're trying to kidnap our Blue Jay."

Percy nodded and stuck to the corner of the lobby where the shadows obscured his form. She gave him a quick thumbs-up and walked around a slight corner into the main lobby. A few fake ficus trees, a stained carpet, and the smell of cigarette fumes all made her reconsider the motel. Sitting behind the reception counter was an older man, balding and wrinkled around the face, with a yellowish tint to his goatee.

The man looked up from his book when she approached. His name-badge read _Grandchamp_.

"Hello," Reyna greeted with a small nod. "I'd like a room for the night, please."

Grandchamp gave her a quick once-over and pushed his magazine to the side. "Night's basically over. Day fee."

She quirked her eyebrow tentatively and glanced at the clock behind his head. It indeed showed a time of five-thirty in the morning.

Looking back to the man, she felt wary under his bored gaze. Given her state of appearance, she thought that using the Mist to cover up her bloodied form would be necessary. For whatever reason, the receptionist didn't seem to care that she looked like she'd just finished wrestling a pack of hungry coyotes. In the end, she only shrugged to show she didn't care about the semantics.

"Fine. We've got plenty of vacancies. Prices start at fifty."

"Uh… okay. Do you have a room with two beds?" she asked cautiously.

"Got plenty of those. That'll be sixty, though."

Reyna fished around in her pocket and grabbed a handful of twenty dollar bills. She shifted through the notes before handing Grandchamp the appropriate amount. "Thanks."

"I don't ask questions. Been doing this job long enough to know its bad for business 'round these parts," he replied, having caught on to her meaning. Handing her a key that he'd taken from below the counter, he added, "Just don't ask me to cover for any stupid shit you're thinking of getting into, 'lright?"

"Sure."

Grandchamp nodded roughly. "Good. Your room is out the door, furthest one down on the left."

With that, she looked at the number on the key-ring and walked back to where Percy stood.

"Shouldn't you have wiped his memory or something? Pulled a neuralyzer out of your pocket? C'mon, I'll be J and you can be K. You kinda have that same frown in certain situations," the green-eyed boy said.

She frowned.

"Yeah, that's the one," he pressed. "Wow, you're good at that."

"What're you talking about?" She couldn't understand how he could be making light of the situation in his state. He might always remain an uncertainty in that way.

Percy rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You've never seen Men in Black? That's just sad. We'll have to watch it sometime."

Sighing, more to herself than anyone else, Reyna opened the door and walked back out into the dawn. Percy was following close behind her, still hefting the unconscious son of Jupiter along. The slouch in his back was noticeable. As was the extra bending that his knees took with each step.

She could see that he was tired. They both needed sleep, and now that it was within reach, she felt even more exhausted than only a few minutes ago. Just the thought of falling onto a bed brought a yawn up the back of her throat, ready to ghost through her lips.

It was unfortunate that her mind wasn't particularly lingering on pleasant thoughts, then. After all, she'd left those people back in the burning train. Left them to die. To be eaten. To be immolated. None of them, those men, women, and children, would have been able to defend themselves. Against a snake of that size? Against fire-breathing monsters? No, they'd all have died. And while she could justify her abandonment of those mortals…

' _Even though it was the only way… I… I…'_

"Reyna."

The voice of her elder companion brought her out of self-rumination. She'd already stopped walking somehow, standing in front of a salmon-colored metal door. A golden number _17_ was attached, marking it as their room. Some of the paint was chipping, forming patches of unsightly scabs on the door. The handle looked crooked.

"Charming place," she muttered tiredly. Pushing the key into place, she unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Glancing around, she sighed in relief when the scent of blood didn't hit her nose. At least they didn't have to worry about walking into a serial killer's butchering room.

Two neatly made beds with atrocious floral print comforters were placed perpendicular against one wall, several feet between them. Just across the way rested a table with a small television and DVD player on it. Further down, she could see a sink and another door that probably led into a bathroom.

"Alright you heavy son of a bitch." Percy threw Jason down onto the closest bed and stretched out rather violently. "I'm done pulling his weight. Or… carrying, I suppose I should call it. If I keep trying, I'll finish this quest permanently hunched over like an eighty-year-old actor who was only ever cast as Quasimodo in his long but rather unfruitful career, embittered by years of toiling under heavy make-up and a constant desire to stand up straight and show the bigwigs in Hollywood what for. Let me play Esmeralda for once. Or at least Frollo!" He ended by shaking his fist in the air.

Reyna stared.

Percy stared back.

"Pfftt-" she clapped her hands over her mouth before she could start laughing out loud. Even so, the tremors that wracked her body couldn't be helped. Her fit quickly passed. She was glad that he was trying to be the comic relief. Gods knew she needed some cheer after what had happened. "That was an oddly specific… but nonetheless, interesting way to complain about the situation. Have you ever thought about improv comedy?"

He smiled wanly. "Nope. Proud to say that I never have. My particular form of comedic genius is reserved only… for..."

Reyna watched as his face dimmed of any form of light. With eyes darkened, shoulders sagged, and expression faulted, he suddenly seemed on death's door. It was like somebody had flipped a switch, the change was so abrupt.

She stepped closer, ready to catch him if he fell. "Percy? You okay?" Something about the way he'd lost all of his remaining energy unnerved her. So much for the comic relief.

"Yeah… yeah… more tired than I thought, I guess."

The answer was something she'd expected. He'd barely even put any effort into the lie, no doubt resulting from his condition. Even though Reyna wanted to push, she figured it wouldn't do her any good. In fact, it might only serve to make him irritable.

Instead of trying to dig deeper, she tried to open another line of communication. "Hey… thanks again. For helping Jason back there, I suppose I should say. And… and… I'm sorry for putting that on you. As a centurion, it was _my_ duty to take control of the situation. It was _my_ responsibility but I forced it onto you-"

Having taken to staring at the ground due to her own indignant admission, Reyna stopped talking when she felt a weight settling onto her shoulder. She looked up to see him, with those tired—and positively piercing—eyes crinkled a bit around the corners, a fatigued smile just barely nipping at his lips.

In that moment, Reyna doubted she would ever see him looking so wonderfully genuine and vulnerable ever again.

He reminded her of her sister, with that smile. As she thought further on the similarities, Reyna could see more of them crop up when she compared the two.

Percy seemed to adhere to a desire to become better, much like Hylla. It was an incredible drive, something that felt inhuman to all others, but that only went to prove their amazing strength. Through their internalization of self-improvement, they always managed to astound those around them. After all, how many people could honestly admit that Percy wasn't a brilliant warrior? None that had ever seen him fight, Reyna was sure. He was strong. Just like Hylla.

Like Reyna herself tried to be.

Even when under the care of Circe, Hylla hadn't been one to stay content with her position. As a daughter of Bellona, war was what they yearned for. It was sick, in a way, how their mother's domain could influence them. Fighting would always be in their blood, something that Hylla took to heart. When Reyna had dismissed her sister's determination, Hylla had only smiled and ruffled her hair, saying that everybody was free to choose what they wanted to do.

It had only been when C.C's Spa and Resort was ransacked that Reyna truly understood the value of her sister's training. After all, if Hylla hadn't proved her power to those pirates… well… Reyna preferred not thinking about the results. Either way, though, it had been that show of strength that kept the pirates at a distance. True, they'd been captured, however it was under the pretense of Hylla working for Blackbeard on the high seas, securing and scuttling passing ships.

That day had been the one to spur Reyna into action. For months she would strain herself to the uppermost of her limits, only to collapse each sunset, utterly exhausted. What helped push her work ethic passed the night and well into the next morning was the encouragement Hylla would give. Her sister had once told her to never stop looking to make her life better.

Hylla had given her that same smile right afterward. It was a thing so humble and warm, that Reyna couldn't grasp how it could possibly appear on her sister's face, which was usually bloodied and scratched from her day's work. A warrior who produced that type of smile just couldn't exist.

At least, that's how it had always seemed. Seeing it made all the difference, though. It provided an intimate vulnerability that great warriors only revealed to those who held their utmost trust.

And so, as Reyna dropped her strength in order to satisfy her conscience, it was nice to see Percy do the same. She felt… good… in letting herself falter, because he'd already seen her do so, and that smile didn't seem to judge her for the slip. She could keep going, keep making mistakes, keep stumbling in her own quest for strength. Only the strongest could smile like that.

Or maybe, that particular expression didn't come as a product of strength. Maybe they didn't _smile_ like that because they were _strong_ … instead… maybe they were _strong_ because they could _smile_ like that, even after everything they'd been through.

One day, she wanted to give somebody the same encouragement and hope and stability that Percy and Hylla had done for her.

Nothing else proved their power quite as much, and she seriously doubted anything ever could.

"...well, we're here to rest. So let's get some sleep," she said softly. Percy hadn't spoken a word, only keeping his reassuring hand wrapped around her shoulder.

Percy remained silent, though he nodded lazily. He walked to other bed and kicked his shoes off before flopping down, letting his face collide with the lone pillow.

Sighing, Reyna glanced again at Jason's unconscious body. His chest rose and fell gently, expression peaceful in its restful state. Disregarding whatever may have obstructed her from getting some decent sleep, she pushed him to one side and slid under the covers of his bed. The last thing she wondered, was whether the mortals she'd let die would ever forgive her, if they only knew the reasons behind her actions. After all, how could she possibly smile like those two, if her guilt corroded her strength?

 **[[AaMT]]**

Jason woke up feeling very warm.

Opening his eyes, he found himself staring at a ceiling fan which spun lazily in circles. A quick jolt of adrenaline from waking up in an unfamiliar area brought his memories spinning back into place.

The train. The crash. The snake. The fire-breathing… puppies?… no that didn't sound right.

 _The people_.

Exhaling through his nose, Jason recalled arguing with Perseus in front of a wall made from flames. After that… he wasn't sure what happened. It was all blank.

A snore that came from the right drew his attention. Turning his head, he realized the source of the heat was coming from Reyna's body, which rested only a few inches from his own. She was facing him, looking completely at peace with the world that she inhabited in her dreams. There were still flecks of dried blood and dirt across her cheek, though it was clear that the ambrosia had done its job, seeing that the cut had disappeared.

He raised his hand and pushed some hair away from her eyes, watching as she breathed out again, slower than before.

"You're awake."

The voice almost made him jump, had he not figured that Perseus would be nearby. Instead of being startled, Jason turned his head to see Perseus standing with a towel around his neck, wearing a brand new pair of black jeans and a… Stone Temple Pilots mid sleeve shirt…

' _He's a complete jerk… but damn if he doesn't have a kickass taste in music.'_

"What time is it?" Jason asked quietly, not wanting to wake his resting friend.

Instead of answering, Perseus continued rubbing his damp hair, hinting to Jason that he'd recently gotten out of the shower.

The room where they were looked plain and fairly unassuming. There was a T.V. playing the news just across from the foot of his bed. No sound came from the television, meaning that Perseus had probably muted it out of consideration, which actually surprised Jason a bit. Subtitles crawled across the bottom of the screen, only further proving his observations correct.

"It's gonna be close to noon pretty soon. Once Reyna's up we should find the first bus, train, or plane outta this gods-forsaken hellhole," Perseus said, his tone brooking no room for argument. Just by looking at his face, Jason could see the seriousness that etched each and every line. "Staying in one place too long is just asking for trouble."

"Wait… where are we?"

The older boy held his arms wide open, gesturing to the area all around them. "Welcome to wonderful Wells, Nevada. Unfortunately, I haven't seen anything that filled me with wonder so far. Living in the city really spoiled me," he sighed and threw the towel onto the other bed, which he must have used during the night.

Jason carefully slid from the mattress, using slow movements so as to not disturb Reyna. Standing, he stretched his neck and rubbed his jaw, which was sore from whatever had happened. "I don't know how you can do it. I really don't."

"Do what?" Perseus' disinterested voice only added fuel to Jason's indignant anger.

"Act like everything's fine. Like this isn't a bad dream, a nightmare," he hissed sourly, fighting to keep calm. "I've never been on a quest that went so wrong in such a short amount of time. I've never… how could I have… we…"

They… no… _he_ had left them. The people on that train. He'd been arguing—fighting—with Perseus, but when it the time to act had come, he'd failed. He couldn't save them. Just like he hadn't been able to save his friends and subordinates during the Labyrinthine Invasion.

Their blood was on his hands again. Painted red in the evenest coat. Drenched in his ability to disappoint. How could he ever hope to make a difference at Camp Jupiter with so many regrets? Why could demigods like Hercules, Theseus, and the original Perseus win their battles when he himself couldn't? What did they have that he lacked?

"Let's talk outside," Perseus said.

Jason pursed his lips but followed shortly after, closing the door behind him softly. The sun was already high in a cloudless sky, forcing the world to submit to its heat. He squinted as the harsh light shone in his eyes. A few steps ahead of him, Perseus was already walking languidly out into the cracked and weed-filled parking lot, stepping over broken patches in the dull asphalt.

Jogging to catch up, Jason couldn't help but ask, "Where are you going?"

To him, the question sounded confrontational, angry, even. He couldn't help it. His mood had taken a nose-dive as soon as the memories of his losses came to mind. Never before last year had he felt such bitterness when it came to his own ability. From what he could remember, everything before the invasion of Camp Jupiter had gone his way. Raised by Lupa and her wolves, taken to camp where he'd been hailed as a son of the king, and bestowed upon with power beyond any other demigod he knew.

His wolf-mother had always told him that the strong often took responsibility for the weak, as it had been since the dawn of man. Those with power—either earned or granted, it didn't matter to begin—were typically favored. They were leaders and legends. They were inspiring and detestable. They were the product of necessity.

And that meant he was too.

Sure, she hadn't told him that explicitly, but he could read into her words well enough to understand what she was getting at. Lupa was nothing if not fascinated with strength, especially human strength. The power of mortals may have been a better way to describe it. According to her, she wasn't the only one to find humans so interesting. That said, where others found different things to fawn over, Lupa would always admire strength above all else.

And so he had to be strong.

"Hey-" Jason started to ask again, only to be interrupted when Perseus turned a knife's-edge gaze back toward him.

"I'm getting something to eat. You're following me because you wanna hear what I have to say." The response was biting, like a blade. There was something in his tone that Jason just couldn't place, though he was sure that it wasn't a positive thing. If he wagered a guess, he'd have gone with mocking.

Figuring it best not to argue with Perseus, he let his hand come up to cover his brow, shielding his eyes from the sunlight. They walked for a few minutes along the ill-maintained sidewalk, having to step over the dead tufts of vegetation that littered their path. Along the way, they passed several neglected buildings, all sagging, rusted, and worn from time.

Eventually, Perseus stopped in front of a diner and shrugged to himself. Not once had the older demigod turned to check if Jason was still following, nor had he tried to make conversation. It was unnerving, if he had to be honest, seeing such a restrained attitude on display from Perseus. For a full week, the impression that Jason had been given was the furthest thing from humble.

Entering the diner, they were greeted by a kindly hostess named Anne, who led them to a booth.

"So," she started, pulling out a small notepad and pencil, "I haven't seen you two here before. New in town?"

Perseus smiled sheepishly and gave a quick chuckle. "Are we that easy to spot?"

Anne waved her hand, shaking her head easily. "No. It's just that I've lived here all my life. Worked here that long too. I feel like I know just about everyone in Wells."

"Really? All your life? Couldn't have been that long then," Perseus replied politely, giving a large grin in the hostess' direction. "What can you tell me about the town?"

Jason watched with raised eyebrows as his companion chatted with Anne for a while. Perseus' tone and general demeanor completely opposite of how he'd been a few minutes prior. The smiles were soft and warm, eyebrows upturned slightly, eyes shimmering, and words coming so naturally charming that it was almost like staring at a completely different person. Gone was Perseus the Terrible. Instead, Perseus the Great had taken his place.

Once the two finished their conversing, the hostess finally took their orders with a bright smile. She looked much happier than when they'd first entered the diner, something that Jason could tell with one glance.

It was Perseus that decided on his meal first. "I'll have the Denver Omelet, with a… hm… a side of sausage and hash browns… and some coffee."

Anne nodded as she scribbled on her notepad, then turned to Jason. "How about you, dear?

He ran one last critical glance at the menu before folding it up. "Yeah, can I get the scrambled special, please? With some apple juice?"

When she left to place their order, he turned to find Perseus lounging back in his seat, face having lost all of its previous levity. While he wanted to pursue the subject further, Jason doubted it would do him any good if the other boy wasn't in the mood to talk. Perseus had a penchant for giving people the run-around when it was to his favor.

"I knocked you out before you could try to help those people."

Cold fingers wrapped themselves around his heart and stomach. Something was keeping his breath from fully entering his lungs, leaving him winded where he sat, as if just staying upright was too much for him to handle. The words slowly replayed in his head.

Jason stared at the other boy.

One sentence. It had taken only one sentence delivered in the most colorless of inflections to stop him cold. Looking at Perseus, he could see nothing that indicated remorse nor pleasure in the act. He didn't seem proud nor empathetic. He didn't sound guilty or vindicated. It was just… a fact.

"The only reason I'm telling you," Perseus continued blandly, placing his hands on the table. "Is because I don't want you to feel guilty. Don't blame yourself, blame me," he shrugged.

"What are you-"

"I'm just trying to help you get over it. From what I've seen from you I can tell you're really upset about what happened. When you think it over, though, I'm the one who stopped you from going over to fight those monsters. I'm the one who killed those people. That in mind, I'll be the one to bear those thoughts, if it means you don't have to, okay?"

Jason ground his teeth together in the most discrete way he could. Did Perseus really think that he could just let it go so easily? That he could be so dismissive of that kind of tragedy? How could anybody be so willing to take on the burden of that guilt and still be genuinely _guilty_ when it came down to it?

When he met the calm, steady gaze of his companion, only one question came unbidden to his mind. "Why? Why are you forcing me to let go?"

Perseus crossed his arms and closed his eyes, bowing his head, looking to be deep in thought. "Because feeling guilty over something out of your control isn't helping anybody, especially not you. I get where you're coming from but we need to be dead focused on getting to Charleston. What I'm going to say sounds harsh… and it's probably not right for me to say it since I barely know you… but you need to get your head in the game, man. If you keep doing stupid shit like that, you'll eventually get yourself and _everybody who looks up to you killed_. Reyna looked like she was ready to jump into the fire with you last night, if you needed any proof for my claim."

A wave of dread crashed into Jason's chest at hearing that. At the time, Reyna had seemed conflicted, true, and if he were honest then he fully _had_ expected her to follow his lead. While there was reassurance in such a revelation that his best friend would have gone with him, the thought of them failing brought nothing but burning shame.

He hadn't taken his own life into consideration. He hadn't taken Perseus' life into consideration. And he most definitely hadn't taken _her_ life into consideration.

' _Gods… gods… I could have killed her. Oh gods… she could have died following me into a pointless battle… what kind of friend am I?'_

His stomach twisted angrily at the thought, forcing him to sink low into the plush seat. His hands felt damp as vertigo took hold. The world was spinning. Spinning worse than it had when the train was derailed. Spinning worse than the first time he'd tried to fly. All he could feel were the shivers that raced down his spine and the bile that slowly pushed up his esophagus, burning the tissue inside as it crept along.

Before he could grasp what was happening, a plate of steaming food was placed in front of his face. He blinked, broken from the grip of concern, and watched as Perseus thanked the hostess with a kind smile and sparkling eyes.

As soon as Anne had left them alone, those same eyes sharpened and twisted themselves into a mockery of what they once were. Once they landed on Jason, he couldn't help but shrink under the intense, cruelly punishing scrutiny that they pushed upon him.

"I'm glad to see that you're understanding what I'm seeing," Perseus commented frigidly. "I hope you think more in the future, because there's _so_ much more riding on this mission than your sick necessity of being some sort of hero. Now eat. I'm sure you'll need the strength."

Glancing down at his food, Jason picked up his fork and slowly put some eggs into his mouth. They tasted sour. Even so, he continued to eat, knowing that Perseus was right on so many counts.

 **[[AaMT]]**

The newspaper that Perseus held in hand gave him nothing but bad vibes. It was a local publication, which severely limited the goings-on, but there was enough to set him on edge. The train incident had made the headlines as expected, and the 'official fatality count' was placed around one-hundred and eight. Of course, they were still searching the wreckage to see if anybody had somehow survived the 'massive conflagration' that took so many lives.

Apart from that, however, in the national news apparently more earthquakes had struck Washington near the Cascade mountain range. Further down the west coast, there were rainstorms peppering mid and southern California with bouts of 'worrisome deluge'.

Up north in Minnesota an unexpected cold front brought nearly three feet of snow to Kabetogama State Forest, even going so far south as to cover Rochester in about a foot-and-a-half, all over a two day period.

Moving to Oklahoma, four tornadoes all within the E-3 category had torn through the eastern part of the state, causing millions of dollars worth of property damage, and killing a little over ninety people.

The east coast had remained oddly unaffected by any natural disasters. That said, it was there that perhaps the most disturbing event had taken place. A derelict cruise liner by name of _Harbored Gift_ was found run aground in a wildlife refuge near Savannah, Georgia. The ship was owned by Norwegian Cruise Line, one of the most popular cruise lines in Europe, which also happened to be a company that didn't operate outside of the European continent.

According to the newspaper, Georgian authorities had found nothing short of a massacre when they'd gone aboard. All passengers were found dead. Two-thousand-five-hundred people had been murdered. Most had been mutilated beyond what law enforcement agents were comfortable describing, which in and of itself painted a fairly grotesque image of what they'd found on the ship, considering how desensitized Usonian culture was toward violence and graphic imagery. The whole incident had been labeled as some sort of terrorist operation and pictures had already begun to circulate through the internet of what was found inside.

Perseus himself hadn't seen them yet, although apparently what was being shown brought serious doubt as to whether or not a person, or even a group of people, could have committed such an atrocity.

Such was the reason he was sitting down at a computer stall inside of the small public library that Wells sported, having sent Jason back to the motel to stay with Reyna while she slept.

A part of him wished that Anne had never shown him the paper to begin. Once he'd read the damn thing it was impossible to ignore. He wasn't one for any kind of torture-porn—never having particularly enjoyed any of the Saw or Hostel movies—but something made him want to find the photos of _Harbored Gift_.

Glancing around discreetly, he quickly typed the name into the search engine. The results on the first page were mostly just more articles covering the horrible discovery, so he went to the next. There, he found what he was looking for.

Clicking the link, he was brought to a page that warned him in massive red letters that what he was about to see wasn't for any sort of perverse pleasure on the poster's part, but rather to inform the public about what truly happened.

Scrolling down, Perseus shivered a bit when he saw the first image of a man missing both legs and his entire face. The skin had been torn from the front of his head, leaving only red, pulpy tissue in its wake, along with two unblinking eyes and a set of white teeth.

The next picture was of a woman, her frontal torso having been carved completely out of her, leaving only a wide open area where her organs once rested. From the photo's angle, her spine was visible. Once again, the face was missing, not a trace of it being saved.

On and on they passed. Blood stained each and every picture, so much that Perseus felt his mouth grow sour. Occasionally, a picture would show wretchedly deep scratches along the surfaces of the ship's interior, as if somebody had taken a massive power saw and cut through the walls.

It honestly looked like it should have been the set of some kind of stupid snuff film.

People, once living human beings with family, friends, and ambitions all lay scattered, dismembered and disemboweled. Arms, legs, heads, entrails, genitals; all was taken from one person or another. Skin had been ripped from the muscle beneath, long strands and big patches often folded and strewn across the sticky red ground.

' _Jesus…'_

Feeling he'd seen enough, Perseus closed the browser and left the library quickly.

His walk back to the motel was one he endured in solitude, unable to force the images from his mind. Sure, he'd seen bad shit before, case in point when he'd torn open that mortal two years back, but even then he hadn't looked closely. He hadn't seen bone and blood and squishy tissue all bared to the world in a disgusting mixture that channeled a primal fear of bodily harm into him.

Shutting his eyes, he let out a long sigh. The world seemed to be going to hell-in-a-hand-basket faster than he would've ever thought.

Inclement weather aside, there should have been no feasible way for such a mass-murder to have occurred on a cruise ship of all things.

Especially not something like what he'd seen.

No bullet casings or bullet wounds could be seen in any picture, which meant that most of those people had been killed in a much more personal manner. With a bladed weapon, if some of those cuts were anything to go by. Then there were the gouged out strips of metal and plastic on the walls, floors, and ceilings.

There was no way a human could have done those things. It just wasn't possible, and there wasn't any reason behind such an attack. No organizations had claimed responsibility, nor had any messages been left behind. Apparently, there was no ideological or philosophical motive. It appeared to be violence for the sake of violence. Murder just because it was _fun_.

But where was the fun in killing innocent people when they couldn't fight back? How could that ever be fun? It would be like playing a video game and giving yourself a 'god-mode' cheat. Sure, it might be funny to plow through everything for about an hour, but then there wouldn't be any real challenge. After a while, the game would become boring.

' _And what's the point of playing a boring game?'_

When he once again reached where he and his party members were staying, Perseus shrugged his shoulders loose. They needed to move, and soon. It was already a miracle that the giant snake—had that been some kind of drakon?—didn't track them down to Wells, considering that it wasn't _too_ far away from where the train crashed.

If they stayed in one place for too long, no doubt they'd be in trouble before they could curse their demigod luck. Not many people would think that being part divine would actually hinder fortune instead of helping it…

' _But c'est la vie, I suppose.'_

Perseus knocked on the door a few times, succinct and with a small pause between each knock. Jason had suggested they come up with some form of signal to communicate whether it was an ally at the door or not. Since the idea had merit, Perseus agreed with his proposal, although he'd argued that it shouldn't be anything extremely convoluted. As such, they'd both decided on something rather simple, though that wasn't a typical method of knocking on somebody's door.

A few seconds passed before Jason opened the door.

"We should think about getting new clothing before we leave," Perseus said as he brushed past and crossed into the room. He looked around. "Where's Reyna?"

Jason gestured to the far corner. "She's taking a shower. Did you find what you were looking for?"

Shuddering, he nodded slowly, his face twisting into a grimace. "Yeah. On one hand, I kinda wish I'd let sleeping dogs lie. One the other… I'm glad I got a bit more info on the situation. Still, something tells me that the east coast might actually be where we all die."

With a slightly forced chuckle, Jason waved his hand dismissively. "Very funny… um… you are joking, right?"

As he went to respond, the door to the bathroom opened. Reyna walked out with a towel covering her hair. Perseus spared her a glance and turned back to pat the son of Jupiter on his shoulder.

"Of course! We're an unstoppable trio! Between your lightning and ability to turn into an airplane, Reyna's empowering aura mojo, and my general skill, we can't lose."

' _Unless they send a Titan after us. Or unless my bane decides to pop in.'_

"I didn't walk into the middle of an argument did I?" Reyna asked with a small sigh. "I don't think I can take it right now."

Perseus grinned widely. He was still disturbed by what he'd seen and the connections that might be drawn from it, but he didn't want to have his teammates worry. "Nah, I was just telling Blue Jay here that we've got nothing to worry about."

Jason frowned. "Blue… Jay? Oh please no-"

"It's perfect! I mean, your eye color along with the fact that you can fly basically makes it the perfect nickname!" he replied, sending the centurion an exaggerated thumbs-up. "I'd like to say that moniker is my crowning achievement. The pinnacle of my greatness. Truly, I am he-who-cannot-be-bested-in-creating-false-idols. You may bask in my glory now."

Reyna rubbed her eyes, muttering something under her breath that sounded like 'moron'. She looked at him, then at Jason, before nodding grudgingly. "Yeah, Percy's got a point. You really _are_ a Blue Jay."

"Percy? Ah, I think I remember that one," Jason said thoughtfully. All in all, he didn't look very pleased, although there was a hint of entertainment on his face. "We'll roll with it for now. We still don't have one for Reyna, though," he pointed out with a small smirk.

"Don't even think about it," she dismissed, putting the towel down. Her eyes narrowed at them suspiciously. "I don't want any part of this."

"We'll probably think of something whether you like it or not. Right now, though, we should talk about how we'll deal with future problems that come up," Perseus said. He didn't want to stay in Wells for too much longer. The sooner they left and lessened the distance between them and Charleston, the better off they'd be. At least, he hoped as much.

The others looked to him, their expressions becoming as grim as his own. It seemed that they understood the situation, which he appreciated to an extent. At the very least, it wouldn't cause problems in deciding their next course of action.

Seeing their expectant faces made him hold back a grin. If they'd already started relying on him, they would be easier to maneuver than he'd anticipated. It was actually a bit disappointing that he hadn't really needed to work harder for such a win. The game appeared to be half-way finished before he'd even invested a considerable amount of effort into it.

A shame.

Still, it wasn't entirely unwelcome. All he needed was a bit more from them and his safety would be practically secure. Unless the gods were unwilling to listen to their children, that was. Should that circumstance come to pass, he'd need to find another avenue.

Fighting the gods was definitely not high on his 'to-do' list, considering he doubted he'd last long against them. If he trained harder, became stronger, then he might stand a better chance at beating at least a few of them. How he would be able to fight the Olympians was beyond him, though, considering they'd won against the Titans long ago.

Violence was the last resort, then.

Moving away from his thoughts, Perseus crossed his arms and leaned against the front door. "Without information, we're basically flying blind here. We don't know how that snake found us. We don't know what's waiting for us further along the country. We don't know what we'll be facing once we get to Fort Sumter. All in all, the only thing we can do right now is go forward. If we stay in one place for too long, who's to say that we won't become even bigger targets than when we're on the move?"

Jason nodded resolutely. "Yeah, we really should keep moving about as fast as we can. I'm sure our scent is going to start drawing a big crowd, which only gives monsters more the reason to attack. If they think they can win, they'll start throwing themselves at us relentlessly."

"How are we going to go about it? In terms of travel, I mean," Reyna asked. "Getting out of Wells is the first step."

Perseus' lip twitched upward as Jason face-palmed.

"As it so happens, we've got a friendly waitress who feels bad leaving three poor foster children alone in the world. She's _insisted_ on taking us to a small city called Wendover, where we can catch a Greyhound to get away from our neglectful and sometimes abusive foster parents." His explanation was once again met by a slapping sound from Jason.

Reyna sighed and shook her head. "Seriously, let's find an improv group for you to practice with. Maybe you can start one up back in New Rome."

Chuckling, he pushed off from the door. "Anne gets off in a couple of hours. We have some time to relax and take it easy. Let's make the most of that before things go tits-up again. I mean… let's face it. Before the end of this quest, all we're gonna be able to tell other people is: 'Ya would've had to have been there'."

 **[[AaMT]]**

Pallas locked his vision on the elderly woman sitting down exactly two-hundred and thirty-eight feet away from him. She rested on a square stone pedestal before a small pool fountain, the shade of a long pole casting its darkness upon her. A flag of the United States fluttered lightly in the warm breeze atop the flagpole, syncing it's calming sounds with the cresting of waves down near the pier.

He'd been in South Carolina for little more than a day and already he was finding it difficult not to strike out on his own. After all, most immortals were independent by nature. They preferred their space, typically not acting in a communal sense unless in response to a threat. Following orders didn't come easy.

Of course, the thought of being on the receiving end of his king's scythe gave him enough incentive to remain passive. On top of that, Uncle Iapetus had appeared somewhat invested in the mission to defeat those three demigods. Pallas knew that failure wasn't an option for his well-being, or his pride, which meant he had consigned himself to suffering through the tedium of waiting.

For most of his relatively short time in Charleston, his fears of boredom had been founded. If he drew too much attention to himself, the Olympians might have learned of his position and tried to attack while he was alone. Such an act would befit their nature, after all.

However, a few hours past, he'd been made distinctly aware of an odd distortion in the atmosphere. The air was rife with discontent, roiling with the overbearing memories of a freshly opened corpse. All around, Pallas could feel the blood of thousands of people saturating reality in its smothering cocoon. He could hear screams ebbing loud through the streets, building and building until they crescendoed into a ghastly wail which cut into even _his_ composure. Then, as quickly as they'd come, they dwindled with a rhythmic beat like that of a pulsing heart, flowing out of the city and retreating back to their original source.

A source that he'd finally found in Liberty Square after an afternoon spent searching.

Being a divine entity himself, Pallas knew he couldn't take a physically unassuming old woman at face value. Not when he'd identified her as the epicenter of that horrible sensation. Whatever she was, it was about as far from an elderly mortal woman as universally possible. Nothing had come close to sending shivers down his spine as violently as she had; not even thinking about Kronos' scythe.

Pallas stared at his target for a moment longer before hefting his javelin. Closing one eye, he watched through a pair of trees as the woman took a few crumbs of bread and threw them down at the birds by her feet. The muscles in his arm tensed when he cocked his hand back.

It wasn't an honorable thing to do, attacking from a hidden position. As a Titan, his pride felt another blow being hammered into it at taking such actions against an enemy. As the Titan of Warfare, though, he could put aside pride and honor when victory was only attainable without them interfering with his decisions. War wasn't about those things. It was a place for one thing and one thing alone. Victory.

With the distance between himself and the target, his weapon would reach her in about a third of a second. Taking a deep breath, he lurched his entire torso forward, bringing his arm down in a constrained arc with nearly all the might he could muster. The javelin left his hand with a shrill whistle as it streaked through the air.

He didn't even have time to watch it impact the woman before a cloud of dust was sent into the air from where the javelin had entered the ground. Since he'd been at a higher elevation, his projectile went was angled to hit the target and then slam into the ground, effectively canceling its movement and reducing collateral damage.

Jumping down from the roof of the building he'd been on, Pallas rolled once he landed on the concrete ground, coming to a stand from his somersault's momentum. He watched as the dust dissipated quickly, adjusting his full helmet's face mask, which had come loose from tucking his head in during the roll. Taking stock of his surroundings, he noted that there were no mortals around him. No doubt, they'd all been instinctively wary about visiting the area, a primal part of their brains unwilling to trek near a source of such raw horror.

As he walked to the site of disarray, he realized something was _very_ wrong. The voices had started to pick up again, chorusing in their different pitches, a sound so immensely vile that Pallas felt it could drive all sanity from his mind should he be forced to endure it for long. Blood lingered in the air, its metallic flavor touching his tongue. The scent of rotten and decaying meat wafted over him, plaguing his nose.

"Oh dear me… you've frightened the pigeons off."

Pallas immediately drew a spear through his domain and raised it defensively. He swiped his weapon through the air, drawing out the 'Titanic Energy' which all Titans were able to use.

Koios and Phoebe, the two most scientifically inclined minds on Othrys, had once tried to explain the Energy to all of the Titans. They had gone on for hours about the basics of electronegativity, which Pallas and many of his family simply couldn't understand. In the end, Phoebe had summed it up as: _"Basically, because of our inherent reality-defying power, we can bend the laws of the universe to our whims and make a certain portion of the particles in the air extremely repellent. It's like a moving mountain of invisible force."_

To Pallas, it was mostly just semantics. The wall of Energy scattered whatever dust remained, revealing the elderly woman standing with her hand outstretched.

If he hadn't been so certain of her guise before, Pallas would've faltered at seeing his Energy disrupted. Any normal foe should have fallen to his might, to the might of a Titan.

"Quaint," the woman said, her eyes sliding over Pallas' form. "I was wondering when you'd find me."

"Who are you?" he asked cautiously. " _What_ are you? Do you identify as Titan… or god?"

She was obviously divine in some way. Her power was nothing short of impressive. He could see the javelin he'd thrown several feet behind her, meaning she'd somehow dodged the missile going as fast as it had been. Again, such a feat was godly.

Had Kronos sent her to test him? Was she a Titan supporter?

The woman smiled pleasantly, dropping her arm and tilting her head to one side slowly as she spoke. "My name won't have meaning to you and I am neither Titan nor god. No... you see... ... ... ... ... **I am truth, embodied.** **Under this banner of war, I come to you as Ego, the adjudicator.** "

Pallas took a step back as the woman's voice reverberated through the air, void of inflection and character.

" **You have been stationed here to fight Perseus Jackson, have you not?"** she asked, although it sounded like a statement of fact and not a query.

Narrowing his eyes, Pallas raised his spear. While that wasn't the full extent of his mission, the entity before him clearly had information regarding a conversation solely between four Titans. She was a threat to the integrity of the Titan army.

"I don't know who you are, but its obvious to me that you endanger my mission."

" **As I declared, so it stands. I am Ego. I am the adjudicator. I am truth,"** she replied steadily, **"With you, I have no quarrel. I came here in order to ensure that Perseus Jackson will survive until I deem it otherwise. Therefore I deliver this message: you are not to slay him. Do so, and I will ensure your true death comes slowly."**

Pallas shook his head. "My king has decreed his death once he arrives. It isn't up to you, if Kronos wills it differently."

Ego stared at him blankly for several tense seconds. She—or rather, _it_ —allowed its eyes to wander through Liberty Square. How the entity could seem so relaxed when faced with a Titan bearing arms against it confused Pallas. Did it have no value regarding its own life?

Not one to allow opportunities to pass him by, he dashed forward, taking the initiative in combat. True, it might have been presumptuous of him to attack an unknown divine being, however Ego already made it certain that it had knowledge of a mission issued barely a day prior. It was dangerous and without apparent allegiance. He couldn't, in good conscience, allow such a being to draw breath.

Once within range, he thrust his spear at Ego's head.

With unnatural agility, Ego twisted its entire body out of harm's way, moving with lithe and uncluttered movements that belied its chosen appearance.

Pallas watched as the creature practically slid around his spear and grasped its haft with one bony hand, yanking both the weapon and its owner close. Before he could react properly, a fist collided with his armored stomach with such raw strength that he was lifted clean off his feet.

Stumbling back, he grasped his spear tightly while bringing a hand to his gut. Through grit teeth, he let out a hiss of pain as he struggled to stay upright. Glancing down, he saw a small dent in the metal from where the fist made contact.

Shifting his gaze, Pallas could do nothing as the creature lurched toward him in one burst of movement, crushing the concrete beneath its feet from where it pushed off. Soon, another fist had connected with his chest, harder than before, sending him hurtling into a grassy field that rested in the middle of Liberty Square.

He planted both feet on the ground to slow his momentum, kicking up dirt as he slid back several yards. Just as he stopped himself from moving further backward, Pallas caught sight of Ego racing toward him from the left. Lifting his spear, he blocked an impossibly strong kick with the haft, only to once again be thrown away from the strength.

' _How is it so strong!?'_

Righting his body in midair, he twisted and caught himself in a crouched landing. He ducked to avoid another punch that was aimed at his face, only to be hit from behind at an unnatural angle.

Staggered, Pallas managed to stop from hitting the ground, rolling over one shoulder and coming up brandishing his spear. Not waiting to give his enemy time to press the attack, he lunged with a flurry of jabs and stabs meant to kill. Each strike was aimed at vital parts of the body in hopes of ending the fight with one swift skewering. He pushed forward, forcing Ego to move around erratically to avoid being fatally wounded.

As the seconds became a minute, Pallas frowned at seeing how his foe moved. Its eyes never fully concentrated on one object, constantly roaming around the entire field. Despite that, Ego had not been struck, instead having dodged every thrust by a seemingly narrow margin. Soon, it began to fight back, constantly knocking the spear aside with the back of its hand or the flat of its palm.

Pallas grunted as he was misdirected, sweeping low with his spear in hopes of cutting off a leg.

Ego leaped back on deft feet, creating some good distance between them.

Frowning, he lifted his weapon and drove the tip into the ground, directing his energy through the dirt and rocks, shattering the earth. As large chunks of debris soared into the air, he threw out a hand and pushed the rubble toward Ego.

The veritable wall of detritus hit its mark barely a second later, ripping through its body without restraint. Ego was sent sprawling along with the rocks, massive chunks of flesh and tissue littering the ground. Blood, dark red in color, pooled from beneath its form.

Pallas stared silently with raised eyebrows from beneath his helmet.

' _Blood? Not ichor? Was it not divine then? No, that's impossible. Nothing could fight like it could, or release such a potent aura, if they weren't a deity.'_

Just as he went to take a step, a tower of silver fire billowed from where Ego's body rested. He froze, a bead of sweat forming on his neck as he watched the familiar flames eat away at the grass around the creature's form. Only one other being that Pallas knew of could conjure those same silver wisps. Nobody else. It was a power inherent solely to his uncle, with properties that weren't completely understood.

"How? How is this…"

Watching with growing anxiety, Pallas clenched his teeth as Ego pulled itself up from the dirt. Half of its head was missing, along with a few good portions of its torso and some of its left thigh. With such extreme wounds, even an immortal would have been reduced to their essence, needing time to reform. How Ego could stand after being torn to pieces was beyond him. Once again, it defied his knowledge.

When Ego had fully risen, it flicked its wrist dismissively. The fire bent and twisted with voracious greed, engulfing the creature behind a thick veil of silver. As the flames climbed higher, the screams which had diminished during the fight resumed in their wailing. Discordant echoes pulsed out and sent terror into the air.

Then, from the storm of fire, something emerged. It was a head, or perhaps some sick mockery of a head. Without hair, eyes, ears, a nose, or naturally colored skin, the only thing visible was a long groove that horizontally split the 'face' one side to the other. From there, two rows of human teeth peeked from behind cracked lips.

Pallas recoiled as it moved into the open, displaying its bulbous, roiling, inflating, shifting flesh—pink to an unnatural degree. One arm was long and thin, stretching down the entire side of its six-foot-tall body, allowing its fingers to just touch the ground. The other arm was normal in size and length, though the clawed hand made for an intimidating image. Occasionally, parts of its body would fill with what looked to be blood, swelling up like a balloon, before they drained back into its form. Deep, clean cuts marked its chewed torso with red lines.

The abomination took a step forward, fire still clinging to its body like a second skin.

 _Blood. Flesh. Bone._

 _Apoplectic Fury. Impartial Reason. Beautiful Ideals._

It moved faster than before.

He had no time to even move before searing hot pain cut through his consciousness, rendering him unable to think properly for several moments. Looking down, he found claws entrenched deep into his intestines, still alight with silver heat. Several inches from his helmet, the mouth opened, seeping its putrid scent in his face.

The claws left his gut quickly, though the indescribable torment felt unending as it swept through his nerves like a flood across a valley.

Blood seeped out of the holes in his armor, which he tried to stop with his hand, only serving to dampen his gauntlet and dye it red. He blinked as the claws again buried themselves in his body, this time through his left shoulder, cutting through the metal and bone with equal simplicity.

An open palm crashed into his chest, sending Pallas toppling onto the ground.

He gnashed his teeth together harshly. The scream that nearly escaped him was choked down. Such an act was not befitting a Titan should they be in pain. Better to swallow it than lose his dignity. Even still, he felt the back of his throat rumble as agony laced his every thought. The muscles in his neck felt close to tearing from how hard he fought natural instinct.

From his position, Pallas saw a thin hand grasp one side of his helm, holding his head in place to stare directly at the abomination's mouth.

" **Do I have your attention now, Titan of Warfare?"** The question was delivered with no hint of anger, threat, or any noticeable modulation. It was flat, lifeless, and monotonous. **"Know that had I wanted it, your immortal life would have been ended by my hand. Let this be your final warning, Pallas. The only reason you still live is because this engagement did not duly reflect your true capabilities in combat. My hypothesis follows that you did not wish to reveal yourself to the Olympians or their allies. In your hope of remaining undetected, you did not achieve what you could have should you fight without restraint. Furthermore, you are only recently reformed, which undoubtedly means your power has not fully returned to you.**

 **The conclusion I draw from this places you in a favorable position. If your mission is to wait here and intercept the traveling group of demigods which includes Perseus Jackson, then you still have your uses. Had you been too weak, I would have retired you here. Had you been too strong, I would have retired you here. Due to your diminished power, you will make an excellent starting point for him. As such, should you somehow defeat him in battle, you shall not slay him. This does not mean, however, that you may fight without conviction. He must be made strong. Hardships and tribulations create the strongest of people."**

Pallas blinked several times. The pain made it difficult to speak, though he managed to grunt out, "W-What are you? Why… why do you care about Perseus Jackson alone?"

" **As I stated before, I am Ego. I am truth. Truth comes in many forms, for I am also acceptance. I am reason. I am logic. I am manipulation. I am decline. I am degeneration and degradation. I am the harbinger of finality. I am the end."** Ego's answer raised more questions than it answered, though Pallas chose not to interrupt. **"My interest in Perseus Jackson is wholly motivated by selfish desire. Once I have him, I can be free of her, and my freedom will allow me to accomplish what I have set myself to doing. Once my constraints are lifted and once Perseus Jackson has been dealt with, none would have the capacity to delay the inevitable. Not you, not your Titan Lord, not the Olympians, and not even the Earth itself. As such, you will not kill him."**

Ego stood and let Pallas' head drop to the ground.

" **I care not for the other demigods en route. Do with them as you will. However, should you slay Perseus Jackson, I will ensure you regret it."** The abomination turned and shambled away. **"Your suffering will be slow. Centuries will pass and you will have yearned for true death since the first minute. I suppose, in a manner of speaking, it will be cathartic for the other two."**

Pallas closed his eyes for a moment and winced as he felt the pain from his wounds flare before lessening significantly. Taking a few calming inhalations, he sat up and looked across the field. He managed to catch sight of Ego vanishing in a flash of silver flames, leaving him alone on the broken field of Liberty Square to mull over the situation that he'd found himself in.

* * *

 **A/N: Not much to say here. A rather physically static chapter with some emotional and mental growth, which of course tie directly into the plot. Oh, and a first encounter, I guess you could say, which was nothing short of a domination. The Titans will be stronger than how they were in canon, although most of them won't be at full power since then it would be almost impossible for demigods to beat even the weakest of them. I mean, these are deities, gods that can control nature and warp what we think of as the universal laws of our reality. Stopping time? Basically creating energy out of nothing? Yeah, can't give them too much power.**

 **As for the Titanic Energy, I decided to elaborate on it since it always confused the hell out of me. In the end, after thinking it through and researching how it might possibly be used, I went with chalking it up to electronegativity. They use their crazy reality-bending powers to cause the electron fields of the particles around them to repel at a greater intensity than normal. After all, electrons don't like touching, though they can share fields, unless the negative charge on a single electron was so great that it simply pushed all other electrons away. I know its pretty sci-fi and still leaves a ton of questions unanswered like how this doesn't cause exergonic and exothermic reactions, or what about entropy, or how is this even realistic, but hey, they're divine beings, so they can fuck the rules every now and then.**

 **Pallas, B.T.W, ain't gonna be a punk bitch forever. He'll have his time to shine later.**


	9. Precipitation, Coalescence, Monsoon

_**Review Response-**_

 **Death Fury: Thanks again!**

 **Guest #1: Thanks.**

 **Jet: I do try my best to respond to all reviews, although I might miss some here and there. Ego is the same bane, just assuming a different name, the reason of which will be explained in due time. I think that the Titans were made weak so that Rick could keep the general death toll and destruction down in fights, considering that his intended audience was a younger group. Had the Titans been made as powerful as in tradition myth, we might have seen more character death. Thanks for the feedback once more!**

 **Guest #2: Glad you're enjoying it.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not make any money off this work of fanfiction. All rights for the characters in Percy Jackson and the Olympians and Heroes of Olympus go to Rick Riordan and all who were involved in the creation of the novels.**

* * *

9\. Precipitation, Coalescence, Monsoon

* * *

Flat, foggy, and barren.

In truth, Perseus doubted he could describe the land beyond and around him any other way. It looked dead, smelled of nothing, and carried with it a tint of forlorn dreariness. Everything was dark and gray. From the nearly ink-black sky, to the lifeless-gray dirt, even to the heavy fog that clung low to the earth.

It was a place, forsaken.

As far as he could see, there was no sign of _anything_ sans the sky, the fog, and the ground. There was no grass, there were no trees, there stood no mountains, there blew no breeze. True enough, the bodied mist rolled by his ankles, which meant time was passing. That might have been the only comfort. Movement meant that he wasn't completely suspended in endless monotony.

Sighing, he sat down, crossing his legs in front of him and resting his chin on a fist. It was a dream. At least, that was what he figured. The last thing he could recall was seeing a big green sign that indicated the border between Utah and Colorado.

Yes, he and his companions had been traveling on the road for several hours.

Anne, that kindly hostess that he'd taken advantage of, had done as she'd offered, driving Jason, Reyna, and himself to West Wendover, Nevada. From there, he'd coerced Jason into using the Mist to convince Anne that she'd never met them before.

The request had been met with some reluctance on both Jason and Reyna's parts, though they eventually saw the benefit of erasing themselves from her memory.

Once that was done, they bought tickets for a Greyhound bus headed to Denver, Colorado with some money that he'd had… liberated… from Anne's rather hefty purse. Why a waitress had so much money on her was beyond his reckoning. Be that as it was, he didn't want to look a gift unicorn in the mouth, so he'd taken several twenty dollar bills that she probably wouldn't miss.

He _was_ a firm believer in _tous pour un_ after all. What kind of musketeer would he be if he couldn't live up to at least one half of the motto?

Besides, he was sure that they needed the cash more than she did. They were trying to save Camp Jupiter, which meant hundreds of lives depended on their success. Further, it wouldn't be a stretch to say that the continuation of the world's status quo hinged on their quest. If Kronos took over and forcibly culled the mortals, what good would Anne's money do her then? It wasn't as if the Titan Lord would take bribes.

She should be thanking him. Too bad that she would probably never see it that way. So then it was for the best that she wouldn't remember him in the first place.

With the Greyhound set to take the party to the middle of Colorado, Perseus felt that he'd played his part wonderfully. Of course, things always had a chance to go bad, though he tried to look at the situation optimistically—if only for his own mental health.

He'd hoped things would play out calmly despite the track record thus far.

That being said, he certainly didn't want a _boring_ questing experience. He knew life wasn't fair, though, so he figured it was either rest _or_ fun. Or maybe Tyche, _Fortuna_ , whatever, would cut him a break.

' _Looking this place, though, I doubt that's gonna happen.'_ Perseus wryly admitted to himself, a grim frown forming. _'Where am I, anyway? Asphodel?'_

It certainly seemed to fit the part he'd read about in some renditions of the otherworldly plane. Although in almost all descriptions there grew at least one type of flower: the white asphodel, after which the Fields were named.

Running a hand through the cracked dirt, he brought a fistful up to his face and inhaled deeply. There was nothing for him to draw on. No life. Barren to the last atom.

Frowning, he allowed the earthen dust to slip through his fingers, falling in a dry torrent back to the ground. He stood again and stared at the environment around him. As he could feel the lack of life, so too, could he grasp something else in the distance.

It was far. Farther than he might have ever traveled before. Pushing the boundary that he could grasp.

It stood at the brink of his current reality, a beacon that beckoned broadly, it's signal like a flame trying to draw some moth. There, in an unknown land with unknown secrets, lay his answers. Beyond the haze and gloom rested a living creature, much like him, in that wretched landscape.

Perseus stared at his destination.

The flame flickered.

His eyes widened.

It seemed that the living was troubled. He would need to find it before it left him alone in such a damned world. So he took steps forward, cutting through the fog with his shins, almost as if he were a giant parting the clouds with each stride.

Against his skin he felt… nothing. Not even the gentlest whisper of air, the faintest trace of heat, or the calmest nibble of chill. Walking through a place so devoid of feedback left him feeling a bit lightheaded. He lived in an age of unprecedented information bombardment. Seeing a colorful sign every minute and hearing a recognizable or catchy song dozens of times throughout a normal day had desensitized him to such environments. To shift into an area so colorless and blank sent shivers down his spine. It was sickening, disorienting. Nearly crippling, actually.

Several minutes must have passed by the time he started feeling anxiety spill into his gut. Taking deep breaths, he regulated his breathing to soothe the overclocked sections of his brain.

Something about the emptiness of his surroundings set him on edge. It was a sensation of awkward energy that coiled in his muscles, knotting them and binding them so that he felt immense tension through each movement.

' _One, two, three, four, five...'_ he counted the steps in his mind, somewhat alleviating the skittering unease. His brain slackened for a moment, losing all focus and-

' _Twenty-thousand seven-hundred and fifty-two, twenty-thousand seven-hundred and fifty-three, twenty-thousand seven-hundred and fifty-four...'_ -allowing him to just enjoy taking some time for himself. Free was he from the stressors of his normal world. In the inky void…

' _Six-hundred-sixty-six-thousand-six-hundred-sixty-six, six-hundred-sixty-six-thousand-six-hundred-sixty-seven...'_ -there was no looming threat of being skinned alive by some monstrosity created by the Earth herself in order to ensure her plans for world domination.

' _...But I would walk 500 miles, and I would walk 500 more, just to be the man who walks a thousand miles to fall down at your door.'_

The black sky above him held no shimmering stars. How he could see was a mystery, considering that there was no moon, no source of light. Or maybe there was-

'… _We're on a road to nowhere, come on inside… taking that ride to nowhere, we'll take that ride… I'm feeling okay this morning… and you know… we're on a road to paradise, here we go, here we go.'_

-actually something emitting those tiny packets of photons somewhere in a distance place. Maybe there was something giving him the means to obtain visual information, dull as it may have been.

'… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …'

Still, it was strange knowing that although he'd walked for well over fifty years that he'd seen nothing except for black, gray, and… and… and… fifty… years…?

' _¿em rof nommoc emoceb sdrawkcab gnikniht did nehW?'_

Perseus stopped walking and blinked rapidly. His train of thought had gone off the rails, so to speak. Glancing around took stock of where he was. Just as his eyes scoured the vicinity, his brain protested with a sharp jab.

"Holy shit." His knees gave out, buckling under some invisible force that sent him crashing to the ground. Memories of his time spent traveling swam through the forefront of his mind.

Time spent walking… losing himself in the sheer tenuous drift… being driven into a state between dead and alive.

Gripping his head with iron-like hands, he felt the immense strain grow until it pressed against the innermost parts of his skull with horrid ferocity. The only option was to let it out. To bash his head against the ground until the bone and skin gave way to relieve the crippling agony.

Just as he lifted his head to carry out the motion, Perseus stopped cold. For the first time in what he assumed to be over a hundred years, he saw something other than fog move. He saw something with substance grace his vision. Something _alive_.

He wasn't alone.

Gritting his teeth, he scattered the thoughts of dying and pushed the torment away. Stumbling to rise, he pressed forward on unsteady feet, every step heavier than the last.

From the horizon bathed in inky tar, a person approached.

Perseus watched as they came into proper view. A woman's figure cut through the fog. Long and wavy hair, dark as freshly tilled soil crowned her head, splashing over her shoulders and reaching near the bottom of her clavicle. Her skin was a hue slightly darker than his own, with many of the features that structured her face reminding him of a mirror's image. Like him, she too, must have been of Mediterranean progeny.

He stopped walking, instead choosing to take in the essence of another _living_ creature. His eyes fell across her body, left bare to the decayed world, unmarred and perfect flesh set clearly as some form of effigy depicting humanity. No matter the appeal her nudity might have brought any person who found women recipients of their lust, Perseus spared his libido a moment's indulgence.

Instead of being caught by her primal evocation of the words _sex_ and _passion_ , he focused on the massive well of power that churned beneath the veneer of sinew and blood. Craggy and crushing, her absolute dominance in terms of presence was nothing if not humbling. Nothing deserved to stand taller, to bend the universe, to invoke supremacy like the woman did.

She was an immovable object.

Once close enough, he could see her eyes. Green, deep, intense, and rich in their emerald nature. Within their sharpness there rested nothing but stoic intent. Never did they shift. No waver or flicker passing across the depths of those purest of gems. Anything that stood before them would be reduced to nothing but dust. Scattered to the winds without the barest hint of care.

Such was the ferocity of her aloofness.

She held no outward expression. There wasn't a single line or dip in her face that proved she felt anything other than apathy.

Without a word or even a glance.

That was how she stepped by him, ignoring his person without so much the benefit of acknowledgment. Her legs, smooth from the bottom of her calves all the way up to her taut thighs, parted the fog that clung low. Swaying arms and swishing hair passed with resoluteness similar to a mountain. With each step, her feet ghosted over the top of broken earth, not even the slightest layer of grime on that immaculate skin. The nails on her fingers and toes were perfectly filed and shaped to the rounded thinness of each delicate digit.

Perseus stood nearly transfixed. The sight of her back to him forced his body into action.

"Hey, wait!" He tried to call out, desperate to speak to another person, to hear a voice that was not his own.

But the woman did not stop in her stony movements. There was no indication she'd even heard him. He jogged to catch up with her, reaching out a hand to latch onto her forearm. Only, his fingers never touched her. They simply passed through her body with an ethereal whisper.

Of course. In the dreamscape, it was never certain what he could and couldn't interact with. Always a gamble with shuffled cards.

"Damn," the curse left his lips softly. He moved past the woman to stand in front of her. "'Scuse me!"

She never flinched in her gait, walking through his intangible being. Scowling, Perseus hummed to himself, suitably frustrated at what he faced.

However he looked at it, though, he was averse to traveling the lonesome road too much farther. He'd already experienced _that_ particular brand of grief and madness. Walking there didn't appeal to him. A route littered with nothing but echoes and delirium.

And so it was that he fell into step with the woman. And so it became that they walked through the ages, thousands of years passing them by. And so it dawned on him that the woman beside him had already suffered on the path of isolation for millennia before he'd ever arrived. And so it came easy for him to admit that she was the epitome of mental fortitude, to not have fallen long ago.

 **[[AaMT]]**

With weight pressing on his shoulder and a gentle shake flowing through his body, Perseus opened his eyes with painstaking effort. He pulled his head up from the window where it rested and to his left.

"We're about to reach Steamboat Springs," Reyna said, pulling her hand away from his shoulder. "Our transfer bus won't be there for another hour-and-a-half, so we'll have time to find a place to eat."

Rolling his neck from side to side, he sighed aloud and stretched his arms above him. The dream lingered for several seconds while he processed the sound of Reyna's voice. What a welcome thing it was.

"Fine. How long was I out?"

Shrugging nonchalantly, she crossed her arms and hung one leg over the other. "Almost four hours or something close to that. We're in the Rockies right now. Beautiful place." Her head turned his direction, obsidian eyes giving him a once-over before gazing beyond the window. One side of her mouth had twitched upward, though it quickly fell back into a formidable groove of indifference.

Covering a yawn, Perseus followed her line of sight. Outside the glass, a scant few vestiges of sunlight clawed at the growing dark of night. The sky was painted in shades of purple and light pink, unobstructed by the few fluffy clouds that lounged aloft. Green grass stretched for some distance on, wooden buildings often littering the fields. Several miles away, he could see mountains climb above the plains, capped with white powder from the past winter season.

"I've always wanted to go snowboarding," he commented, thinking it was quiet enough for his ears alone.

"You've never been?" asked Reyna, her voice somewhat disbelieving.

He looked away from the window and raised an eyebrow at her tone. "No. Wait, wait, what's with that face? You look like I just told you that I'm secretly plotting to entwine myself with you and Jason, ingratiating myself and raising my status with Camp Jupiter as a whole, then elevating you to a position of power from where I can pull the strings to suit my own machinations born of paranoia and a general disposition toward having complete control over my life."

She stared at him oddly.

He stared back, wondering if she'd believe a single word of that ridiculous plan.

Reyna couldn't hold the expression and broke into an amused smile. "Your approach to method acting still makes no sense, though it's definitely effective. Seriously, how can say all of that with a straight face?"

Perseus gave her a crooked grin. "It's all in the mindset," he said as he tapped the side of his skull.

Settling down in his seat, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. As his sight darkened, the dream from earlier came to the forefront of his thoughts.

He recalled the tombstone planet he'd drudged his person across for a century. Massive swaths of time had been cut from his memories, although the encumbering persistence of loneliness couldn't have been more prominent.

If he were honest, he'd have figured that entering the waking world would take substantial effort to adjust to. Knowing how close he'd been to losing it was a hard thing to accept, though he would do so either way. Sweeping it under the rug wouldn't benefit him.

Be that as it may, he was just glad that there wasn't any debilitating sensation cascading through him. He should recover in no time flat.

Feeling content in acknowledging that, his mind drifted to the woman who he accompanied across the ages.

Not for a minute did he delude himself that she was mortal. Even upon first catching a glimpse of her form, it was an impossible thing to ask of him. There was no way that something so _steady_ and _unyielding_ could possibly be anything but ascendant. In her presence, the supreme power she commanded seemed to dominate all else, even though he _knew_ she was restraining most of her grandeur.

Meeting her had given him a new perspective on the word 'power'. There was that of the indirect variety, which others granted onto an individual for certain reasons and under certain conditions. There was power taken, usually then retained through fear. There was a combination of the two, such as that wielded by the gods themselves. Then there was power so intrinsically incorporated into a being that the world had no option _but_ to give unto it all that was to offer.

That woman had fallen under the last category.

Traveling with her for the tens of thousands of years to follow only helped solidify his surety. It was by her side that he'd managed to stay sane throughout the eons. The absolute weight of her presence grounded him for the most part.

As his mind focused intently on the woman's form, Perseus had to shift in his seat awkwardly, in a manner so as to not draw unwanted attention.

Veering his thoughts away from eroticism took more effort than he'd have figured, though, he managed after some time. The situation made any arousal he felt from the woman's body wholly uncomfortable. Under other circumstances, he might not have regarded the sexual undertones of his rose-tinted memories with any unease. Being a teenager, it wasn't the first time he'd been caught up in such desirable fantasy. Most of the time it was a moderately simple task to push through his hormones and occupy his mind with other things.

That wasn't to say he wasn't interested in indulging in the act of sex. Gods knew he'd heard plenty of the wonders that it brought from too many of his 'dominant' male acquaintances. Whenever they got the chance, the topic would be brought up one way or another. He figured it was just one way to enhance their image of masculinity—as if their expensive clothing, important statuses in pursuit of academics or athletics, and ill-conceived displays of wealth thinly veiled as acts of 'generosity' weren't enough for them. His old classmates had definitely been a hoot-and-a-holler to hear talk, thinking themselves significant in some way.

Naturally then, Perseus had thought about having sex.

Even so, he'd never taken the time to try it. He wasn't sure what he wanted from the experience in the first place, whether it be casual or in the form of some invested relationship. After all, the contextual situation would probably play a role in how he perceived the act.

He knew that for most other people it probably wasn't as complicated. Some might pay for sex; and yet, that felt like an insult more to himself than anybody else. Why pay when he could get it for free? On the other hand, he really didn't feel like starting or maintaining a relationship with just anybody. He, like basically everyone else on the planet, had certain standards. Finally,—if he had a third hand to count on—the thought of manipulating a person on unequal footing into bed with him didn't have any appeal. He wouldn't waste his time when the other party stood no chance.

' _I'm not a bad person… am I?'_

Cocking his head to one side, he gave the question a moment of consideration.

'… _Nah_ _.'_ A mental shrug followed the inner revelation.

Given what he already knew about himself, it was a tad disconcerting to know that his reaction toward the goddess in his dream betrayed what he was accustomed to. It was especially awkward since he'd figured that he was probably lusting after Gaea, Primordial Goddess of the Earth… and his paternal grandmother.

While he wasn't completely sure that Gaea was the goddess from his dream, with what he knew, that answer was the best he could think of. Who else could demand such supremacy from the universe itself? It was no exaggeration on his part to say that she felt like an immovable object. Her presence had the qualities of stone. Steady. Solid. Unyielding. Impossible to ignore.

Or maybe he was jumping the gun. After all, he had little other information, bar her dominating aura. Not once had he seen her control the earth in any manner.

' _But she still had that oddly detached look. In a way, she looked… sleepy.'_

In the end, if that woman really _had_ been Gaea, he might have to retract his statement about granny panties. Would joining her side be all that bad? If she looked like _that_ then…

'… _This train of thought is going down some dangerous tracks. I'll just hop off before I end up on the wrong side of town. Then again…'_

Perseus felt the bus slow substantially until it finally came to a stop.

He opened his eyes.

"Food?" he asked, turning to Reyna. Hunger was starting to pervert his thoughts.

The girl was tapping a finger against her chin, staring with apparent boredom down the aisle. She didn't respond for a few seconds. The slender finger continued with its motion, gently touching her skin before leaving it again in slow repetitions.

"Do you feel that?" Her question came unexpected and quick, like a bullet to the face. Despite her hard tone, she looked unaffected by whatever seemed to grip her inflection.

Cocking an eyebrow, Perseus glanced around at his surroundings. Through his window, he could see that the bus had stopped at a transit station. The other passengers were restlessly shifting and beginning to stand so that they could leave the cramped interior quarters. Nothing actually felt out of the ordinary to him.

He turned back to face Reyna. "I don't feel anything. What're you…?"

She frowned and started to lightly nibble on the nail of her thumb. Her eyes darted back and forth, shooting suspicious glares in every direction. "Something's wrong. The air feels charged. It's… heavy… thick… unnatural. I don't like this."

With his tongue, he flipped Impetus over in his mouth, rolling the toothpick back and forth. The nervous tension Reyna gave was starting to affect him as well. As long as the bus didn't explode in a tower of fire he was confident in their ability to defend themselves. They'd rested and recovered for a good deal of time. All three of them were up to top fighting form.

Confidence came easily to him when regarding his personal ability, almost to the point of full-blown conceit, as he could well recognize. There was a nice thin line separating the two forms of self-assuredness. It was a divider that was easy to step over and hard to see in the greater scheme of things. For the most part, Perseus liked to think he kept one foot on each side of said line. He wanted to be certain of himself in some situations while still maintaining a healthy dose of caution in others.

If Reyna was feeling something that worried her, he couldn't rightfully ignore her warnings. While he doubted any singular enemy short of a god could trouble their group, stranger things had happened than meeting a deity while questing.

He gave his centurion a serious nod. "How bad are we talking about?"

She scowled and closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead in soothing circles. "It feels like a war is about to break out. This… it's like electric… fire… an explosion waiting to happen."

"Why can't I feel anything?" he asked, keeping his head rotating from side to side, waiting to catch something in his line of sight.

"I'm surprised you _can't_ feel it," Reyna huffed, opening her eyes again, though they remained narrowed in a refrained grimace. "I don't like this one bit. Our next bus doesn't get here for another hour-and-a-half, so we'll have to try and keep a low profile. Whatever is causing this… this tension, well, we don't want to meet it."

Perseus went to make a sarcastic remark, only to think better of it and kill his voice before it escaped. Instead, he glanced through a small gap between both his and Reyna's plush seats, catching sight of Jason's resting form in the row behind them.

"You didn't wake him up?"

"I figured he could use the rest."

"Oh, I see, and I don't. No, that's fine, really, feel free to ruin my sleep whenever you need something. I implore you to let that bag of air take a breather while the workhorse of the team struggles to stand on two feet."

"Hmm… sounds good to me. Thanks for the kind offer," Reyna said, doing her best to sound cheerful through the obvious discomfort of the atmosphere. The pained half-smile she gave wouldn't fool anybody, though.

As the mortal passengers began to rise all around them, Perseus prodded Reyna to stand. "Well, I'm hungry. Wake Jason up and let's find a place to grab a bite. What kind of trouble could we cause in under two hours anyway?"

 **[[AaMT]]**

It had only taken them a good ten minutes to find an Emperor Burger joint from the transit station. Once Reyna had pulled Jason to his feet, they'd gotten off the bus and asked around for a restaurant. Given that they had already burned through about a fourth of their cash, it stood to reason in Perseus' mind that cheap fast-food would have to satisfy his growling stomach.

Really, it wouldn't have mattered either way. They didn't have long to begin with, so waiting for an hour to even get their meals just couldn't cut it.

Glancing up from his food, Perseus noted that both centurions were on edge. Reyna's fingers were constantly tapping the plaster tabletop and Jason didn't seem to have the ability to control his bouncing leg. They were nervous, anxiously waiting for the mysterious dread that hung over them to drop like a guillotine.

Perseus found it odd that he remained unaffected by the tension that apparently thickened the air. It was curious as to how Jason had immediately commented on it when he'd been woken, proving that Reyna wasn't the only person to feel it. Not that Perseus had ever doubted her. In fact, at first, he'd attributed the reason being that she was the daughter of a war goddess, meaning she must have been more attuned to those kinds of sensations.

The theory had obviously been disproved with Jason adding his own word into the mix.

Speaking of the son of Jupiter… his spirits had been dampened by whatever was bothering him. He hadn't spoken much since their conversation in the diner those eight hours ago. It probably wouldn't be a stretch to guess his bleak mood was in part due to that.

Whether that was the case or not, there were other questions that Perseus held close, most pertaining to the dream. Had it been the past or the future through which he'd walked? Where had the sun, the moon, and the stars gone? Was Gaea responsible for pulling him onto that grave world?

His eyes meandered to his left and out the window he sat by, attention drawn to the fiery red paint of a 1971 Plymouth Hemi 'Cuda. Even through a layer of glass, he could hear the engine's roar, loud and ferocious, oddly reminiscent of a lion.

While he was no automobile aficionado, even he could recognize one of the most desirable American muscle cars. Looking at it up close, he could understand the reasons, too. It was aesthetically pleasing, with those lusciously contrasting soft and sharp edges. Additionally, the ludicrous buying value for one helped raise its appeal. High prices meant that apart from just looking good the vehicle could be cast as a status symbol. A fine way to impress one's sense of self-importance on those around them.

The car pulled into Emperor Burger's parking lot and took the spot next to a decrepit old pick-up truck. A sad comparison, one that probably dealt a mortal blow to the truck owner's ego.

From the 'Cuda, a woman emerged out the passenger side door. She stood straight, innocuously dressed like a soccer mom in blue jeans and a beige cardigan. With her, she carried a long twig sprouting leaves and some other kind of vegetation.

Narrowing his eyes, Perseus watched as she walked to the driver's side and impatiently tapped on the window.

Ignoring her would be impossible. An ocean's worth of soothing waves emanated from her position.

In short order, the driver opened his door and exited the car. A loud, raucous guitar riff followed the man as he stepped out, easily piercing through any form of obstruction that may have held the heavy sound off. It blasted through the restaurant, the drums and bass coming not a second later, sending deep vibrations pulsing into Perseus' bones.

Of course, it would be difficult not to identify the song as _Holy Diver_ by Dio. That riff was just too widely known—at least in his opinion.

The man stood tall as he moved into the open, pulling on one of the dark gloves that covered his hands.

A dangerous grin split the man's face as he observed his surroundings. Shimmering white teeth gnashed together, almost blinding in their brilliance, daring any to come close to intrude upon his space. His hair was an extreme shade of yellow-blonde, deep and rich in color, not too harsh to stare at, although it must have been impossible for any mortal to be born with such coloration.

Unlike the woman he traveled with, the man opted to wear something more outlandish, only fueling the attention he would not doubt be receiving. A black tunic in the fashion of an old military officers uniform covered his torso, lined with red embroidery on its lapels, breast, and cuffs. Two columns of gold buttons fastened the tunic snugly on his chest. Long black boots and equally dark breeches helped accent the grim motif he'd chosen to display. Completing the ensemble was a small cape that hung from his left shoulder, flowing down to his forearm.

He looked to be straight from the Napoleonic Wars era, what with his uniform and air of aggression.

The man reached into his car and rummaged for a few seconds, earning an eye-roll from his companion. When he appeared again, he held a saber in his hand, neatly secured in a gray curved scabbard. Without any preamble, he attached the weapon with a belt to his waist.

"Oh… I guess it makes sense now," Reyna muttered dryly from across the table. Her hand was clenched into a tight fist, brow creased with barely restrained anger. "This can't be good."

Perseus raised an eyebrow and looked at Jason, who sat next to her. "Those are gods, aren't they?"

"Yeah. Lady Pax, Goddess of Peace. A well-respected goddess that we have, almost on par with Bellona considering they're kinda contrary to one another. Then there's Lord Mithras. He's… adopted," Jason said curtly.

"Mithras? Isn't he, like, a god from the Middle East?"

Reyna grunted out a harsh syllable. "Zoroastrianism, I think it was. Persian if you want to be broad. He started gaining popularity among Roman soldiers thousands of years ago, building a huge cult that worshiped him without question. Patron of Soldiers and God of Arms, he doesn't care for mercy or leniency. To him, the enemy of the state deserves no quarter. Not their warriors, not their civilians. He calls himself a God of War… but he's a misogynistic butcher, nothing more than that."

"Brutal then?" Perseus asked, watching as Pax seemingly scolded Mithras for something. The adopted god brushed aside her comments and closed his car's door. Strangely enough, the music could still be heard, not having been diminished at all. The two deities exchanged a quick word, then made for the restaurant's entrance.

"Men, women, children." Reyna scowled heavily. "All of them were put to the sword when Mithras had any say in the matter. They were never given the chance to peacefully surrender and be made tributaries to the Roman Empire. Rampant murder and razed settlements, that was really all that Mithras apparently cared for. No other war god went that far. He acted more like a barbarian than a true Roman."

"Look alive, I think it's us they're after," Jason warned.

With newfound wariness, Perseus tracked Mithras as he pushed the front doors wide open. Taking a step forward, the god crossed the threshold, music blaring in behind him as he stalked past a few confused customers. The shining grin hadn't once lost its predatory edge, promising only bad news.

Something swirled in the air, smothering the fast-food restaurant's interior in a thick blanket of bellicose sentiment. Perseus felt himself grow angry just looking a the smug expression on the god's face. Fury swelled in his gut, raging around in his intestines, pushing its way up into his chest. He felt a barely contained urge to pull each one of those glimmering teeth out by the root.

Mithras pushed his way to the front of the service line, cowering anybody who tried to protest with a single glance. Once he stood before the trembling teenage employee, he leaned over the counter and placed a gloved hand on the POS system. He spoke slowly, voice a gravelly baritone, hints of a foreign accent to his tongue.

"I'd like to place an order. Now listen, and listen close, because I really do _hate_ to repeat myself."

Suddenly, his line of sight on Mithras was blocked by a wall of beige. Calmness soon began to reclaim his brain, giving him time to think of things apart from driving Impetus through the war god's heart. Following the wall upwards, he found himself staring at the strained smile of Pax, who was pulling a metal chair toward the end of their booth.

"Do you mind if I join you?" she asked, though her actions went against the spirit of question. Without waiting for an answer, the goddess sat down primly, closer to the side of the booth that Jason and Reyna occupied.

"Of course not, Lady Pax," Jason said. He reciprocated her smile the best he could, though his blue eyes often flitted to where Mithras was intimidating the staff. "It's been too long since we've last spoken, hasn't it?"

"Oh, that it has, good brother. I would have preferred speaking to you… under different circumstances…" her smile strained even further when Mithras began to laugh at the squirming adolescent, "but I suppose this is simply how Fate has dealt our hand."

"Lady Pax. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Reyna said, jumping into the conversation once there was a lull.

"Equally so, daughter of Bellona. Many gods have been impressed by your prowess in both leadership and combat. You do Rome proud."

Perseus could practically see Reyna preen under the compliments being paid to her by a goddess. He supposed it wasn't exactly out of the ordinary. Considering that she was in a position of high authority at Camp Jupiter, praise from anybody else might have sounded condescending or had a diminished impact. He doubted she'd seriously gotten a compliment in a while, especially one that mattered to her.

Reyna ducked her head slightly and averted her eyes. "Er, thank you, Lady Pax."

The smile on Pax's face grew a bit softer at hearing the uncertain reply. Eventually, she turned her attention to Perseus, locking her cool amber eyes onto him. She moved a few strands of her snowy white hair behind her ear, giving a small nod. "Mr. Jackson."

"Please, Mr. Jackson was my father. You can call me Doctor Mister Undersecretary Jackson Junior. Sounds better anyway."

If she was amused by his way of breaking the ice, she certainly didn't show it. "It's always the comedians who die first." Her blunt delivery was mirrored by the smile slipping from her mouth.

"Can you not imply things like that on a quest like this? Makes it sound so ominous."

"I've watched more than my share of mortal horror movies. The fate of all comedic relief characters is to die either physically or to fade into obscurity. May you rest in peace either way, Doctor Mister Undersecretary Jackson Junior."

"Part of me wants to think that you're teasing me. The other part thinks that you're being dead serious. I can't tell which one is actually scarier."

"Death should always be taken seriously. That's why comedians must die first."

"… Shit you've got a good point."

"I'm a goddess. Of course I have a good point."

"How do I even argue that logic?"

"You don't."

"You underestimate my power."

Before Pax could respond, another chair slammed down at the end of their booth, closer to Perseus' side. In short order, a plastic tray full of food clattered onto the table.

Mithras sat down without any of the grace that Pax had shown, his face still set in that infuriating grin. The god gently smoothed his short and styled yellow hair, running fingers through the quiff and back across the top of his head. His eyes burned with intense amethyst fire, literally flaming around the irides, sending purple wisps across his sclera time and time again.

For several seconds, the only noise was that of the music from Mithras' car.

Clearing his throat, Perseus gestured to the parking lot vaguely. "I heard the second beast say, Come and see."

Mithras blinked, his smile dimming for a moment before it came back in full force. He leaned forward in his seat. "And there went out another horse that was red."

"And the authority was given to him to take peace from the earth."

"And that man should kill one another."

"And given to him was a great sword to do so."

The Patron of Soldiers let his grin drop into a cutting smirk. He picked up his burger with one hand and began to eat, hooking his other arm across the back of his seat. "Perseus Jackson, unwanted bastard son of Camp Jupiter, and apparent Christian theologian, if you quoting the Bible is anything to go off of. A _great_ _pleasure_ to make your acquaintance."

Perseus gave the god a genial nod. "Mithras. Adopted god of unnecessary brutality. I hear you're a sick fuck of a person."

"Now who would spread such baseless accusations against me? Perhaps I'll have to suss out insubordination my way from now on. Two hundred lashes from a knotted whip should do. Or perhaps I'll take them to the rack for a few days." Amethyst eyes blazed confrontational aggression, finding their way to where Jason and Reyna sat. "Hm, son of Jupiter. It wouldn't have been you. No, no, not at all. You're far too rigid in respecting authority. No, if I had to guess, it would be you… daughter of _Bellona_."

Acid dripped from Mithras' tone when he turned to address Reyna directly. Given the way she'd been acting earlier, there must have been some kind of history between the two of them. Or maybe a rivalry between two war gods that bled over to their children, if Perseus had to guess.

Tension filled the air once more. This time, though, it felt like edged steel was being placed to every inch of his body, held too close to even breathe out of fear of being cut. He noticed that the music had finally stopped playing, leaving silence to reign in its wake.

"That's quite enough," Pax's clipped words dispelled some of Mithras' aura. Suddenly, the normal sounds of a restaurant resumed. "You promised me that you would restrain yourself. Would you call what you've displayed up until this point 'restraint'? We have larger worries than your petty vendetta against all other war deities in the known universe."

She turned to the two centurions and placed a hand on Jason's shoulder. "Please calm yourselves. Getting agitated only further fuels his lust for battle."

"Lust not just reserved for battle," Mithras corrected, a gleam in his eye as he stared at Pax.

"Not in a million years you degenerate heathen," she frowned.

Jason forcefully cleared his throat, appearing to struggle grasping what was happening. "While this visit has been auspicious, can I ask what my Lady and Lord are-"

A loud snort from Mithras cut the sentence off. "Enough with that bullshit formality. It's cute for about a second but gets annoying real quick. The reason I came all the way here was to give you my request. Think of it as an opportunity for a god to owe you a favor down the line."

"If it's within our power I'm sure we can help," Jason said, his eyebrow twitching.

"Given the composition of your team? I have no doubt you can do it," Mithras nodded. "So here's the long and short. A group of twenty turncoat demigods left Camp Jupiter some months back to join the Titan usurpers. Not sure how, but a week ago they found an old temple of mine in Missouri—damn that Daedalus to the Pit and back again. Since then, they've been snooping around my place of worship, no doubt looking for valuables left behind. I don't like it when people invade my territory, you see? Especially not when all they want to do is steal from me. _Me!_ So I want you to take care of them.

"I'd do it myself, of course, but I can't fight mortals without being challenged first. Those gods-be-damned rules force me to stay my hand and keep from initiating a battle. And of course, I can't very well rely on those cowards to instigate something, now can I? What half-blood in their right mind would challenge me? And so therein lies the problem. I need to get a third party involved, which just so happens to be your group."

Jason's face had become confused sometime during the god's explanation. "I don't recall hearing about that many demigods leaving camp within the past year. Maybe trickling out here and there, but not a group so large."

Pax sighed and folded her hands on the table. "Mithras isn't being dishonest. They left before the Titan forces assaulted Camp Jupiter last summer. Be that as it may, we can't dwell on the semantics."

Mithras seemed amused by Pax's consoling, shaking his head while stuffing his mouth full of fries. "Don't question the logistics, kid," he said, taking a sip from his drink, "we've got other things to worry about right now. Like ridding my temple of _filth_ that would defile it."

Reyna hummed in thought. She brought a hand to her chin, grasping it lightly. "I see. Well, Missouri is along our way, no doubt we'd be passing through the state on our way to Charleston. Plus, this could give us with a good chance of getting information about the enemy. I think we can accept your request. We'll need the exact location of this… temple."

With a flick of his wrist, Mithras slid a small envelope to Perseus, who caught it before it could fall off the table.

"The details are in there."

Reyna nodded. "How should we contact you once the demigods have been captured? We can't very well take them back to Camp Jupiter ourselves."

Violet fire leaped from amethyst crystals, eyes turned alight with deep mirth. "Capture them? No, that wasn't what I was intending."

"Such is the reason that I'm here," Pax said. Voice full of disdain, she sniffed and tilted her head away, imperious in comparison to present company. "I wouldn't want you influenced by this… creature that revels in violence."

Jason and Reyna looked at one another, clear unease about the situation setting into their faces.

The reason wasn't difficult to imagine why, either. While the implications hadn't been explicitly stated, Perseus was already privy to what Mithras meant. Given time, he was sure that his centurions would connect the dots, considering that neither of them were stupid.

"Lord Mithras, I'm not sure I follow..." Jason trailed off, uncertain.

"I don't want prisoners," the god clarified, grin coming back and eyes burning. "I want you to kill them all. Spare nobody. When you're done, I'll come in and crucify them to the walls, sending a clear message to anybody else who would _dare_ make a mockery of me."

Feeling the temperature in the room drop drastically, Perseus glanced over at Pax, who seemed to be doing her best to remain collected. Even through her efforts, anger shone in her honeyed eyes, fully directed at the belligerent god of war. Her hand found the edge of the table, where her fingers turned red and white under the crushing grip she applied. Cracks in the wood soon spread.

His eyes pulled away from the incensed goddess and found his centurions.

Jason's lips were pulled tightly together, harsh in their shape. He stared at the table, refusing to look anywhere else. It wasn't hard to figure that he was troubled. Honestly, Perseus felt that Mithras' request couldn't have come at a worse time. After what they'd been through already, Jason most of all needed time to come to terms with failing. They couldn't win at everything. All they could do was win in the most necessary situations.

Reyna, too, didn't seem to take the news well. Given what he'd seen of her reaction to Mithras, for her to be asked to murder fellow Roman demigods from a person she despised probably set her displeasure high. Could she actually go through with it? He didn't think she could; not if she knew the demigods on a closer level.

From the looks of it, neither Jason nor Reyna could stomach following Mithras' request.

It was murder, after all. They would be the aggressors, not the defenders in that specific scenario. Looking at it from a different perspective, their actions could be condoned under the interpretation that they were fighting for humanity, but that might very well not be true.

Clearly, Kronos hadn't advertised genocide as a selling point for demigod recruitment, otherwise, he might not have seen so many join his army. Whatever the Titan Lord promised, it was potent enough to sway loyal Roman soldiers.

So the possibility persisted that the other demigods had been tricked into service. Additionally, there was hardly a way to know if Kronos would actually be a terrible ruler. Sure, the guy had his dark spots—what with devouring his children and using fear to rule over his own kin—but humanity hadn't exactly been wiped from existence under his reign.

The situation was too complicated for him to make sweeping generalizations about any one faction. In the end, it didn't matter who he aligned with. Titans, Olympians, Primordials, or even himself if all else failed. Above everything, he wanted guaranteed safety for both his mother and himself. Just under that came supporting the winning side. Ideally, he would kill two birds with one stone and align with the faction that promised not to target him or his Mom, who also had the best chance of overall victory.

Once he'd won, then he could go about…

Well clearly, after winning he would finally be able to…

His one true goal was to…

' _Wait. Do I actually have plans for the future? Once the war ends, what am I gonna do?'_ Perseus couldn't help but frown at realizing he hadn't planned that far ahead. An odd sensation, to have been caught flat-footed by his own internal considerations. Still, it was good he'd found out sooner rather than later. There was still time to find a passion to pursue. _'Right. Yeah, focus on survival foremost, and find a hobby during your free time.'_

"And _I_ am here to request something _else_ of you three."

He blinked, looking to Pax, who'd stopped glaring at Mithras with pure venom. Instead, she was giving the two centurions her full attention, basically disregarding Perseus even though she'd technically addressed him as well.

Both Jason and Reyna broke from their sullen glares, focusing on the goddess who tried her best to give an encouraging smile.

"Killing those demigods will do us no justice and certainly no favors. It would be best to capture them for questioning. This avenue will also give them the chance to rejoin our own forces. I'm sure you see the value in that," she said, folding her arms. "If word manages to spread that the Romans are accepting once-traitor demigods, hopefully we'll be able to bolster our forces once Saturn reveals his true colors. No doubt, some of the turncoats wish to return to their family."

Mithras' face had grown darker with each passing sentence that Pax spoke. The grin hadn't left, though there twisted a malevolence in it that continued to spread. Putting down the drink he'd been holding, he slid his tray away from himself, coincidentally forcing it closer to Perseus, who caught sight of something under the gray plastic.

The god didn't spare him a glance and the goddess was still talking to his party members about post-war rehabilitation efforts.

Moving his hand discreetly, he picked a piece of paper from beneath the tray. Pulling back, he examined the few words that were written on the vellum in red ink.

 _Outside._

 _Five minutes._

 _Be subtle._

Suddenly, Mithras stood, garnering eyes to his position. "I've given my request, so I don't care enough to sit around listening to your bleeding heart ceremony, unless it involves some actual hearts that I get to make bleed. Either way"—he gave a careless shrug, cruel countenance still in place—"it would do you three well to do what I'm asking. A favor from somebody like me is going to go further than whatever _Pax_ of all people could possibly offer."

Adjusting his tunic and belt, he left without another word, taking his trash with him and dumping it all into the garbage. Once he'd exited the restaurant, a calm settled across the dining area.

"Bastard."

Perseus felt compelled to agree with Pax's assessment. He took the envelope he'd been given earlier in hand. The parcel hadn't been sealed, which left him the option of checking its contents should he so please. Of course, caution could be warranted in dealing with gods. History had proven that point time and time again.

Figuring it best to let sleeping dogs lie, he set the envelope down in favor of finishing his food. Cold meat and a soggy bun made the experience far less enjoyable than he wanted. He noticed that neither of his acquaintances were eating anymore.

"Lady Pax..." Jason's heedful voice lost momentum when the goddess turned to him. His mouth opened and closed a few times. Nothing overt and exaggerated. A small gesture of uncertainty, though, which conveyed his timidness given either the situation or his next words. Perseus observed, curious as to what direction the conversation would take.

Technically speaking, he was part of the dialogue, if only in spirit. Practically, he hadn't contributed anything in relation to Pax. There hadn't been a need to do so. Had he tried, the flow might've been interrupted, something he wanted to avoid if possible. Especially since he now had a secret appointment to keep with Mithras.

"Speak your mind, brother. Does something trouble you?"

Jason shifted in his seat. He nodded and said, "Actually, yes. I've been wondering if… that is… well… do you have some sort of… investment in seeing your request fulfilled over Lord Mithras'?"

' _So he picked up on it too?'_ Perseus cocked his head. _'He's more observant than I've given him credit for.'_

Pax dropped her eyes. "A fair question to ask. If you're to put your safety on the line for my sake, I suppose it's only right that I answer truthfully." Sucking in air, she let go of her breath with a long-suffering sigh. "Two of my children… my _only_ two children in the past several generations… they are in that group who gather inside of Mithras' sanctuary. My oldest, Noel, left the camp a few weeks before the Labyrinthine Invasion, to be with his significant other, a daughter of Nemesis, or Invidia, whichever name you'd prefer. This Spawn of Revenge was the one who led the disgruntled group to abandon Rome. She captured my son's heart, taking his reason along with it.

"Worse still, my youngest, Naomi, couldn't bear to let Noel leave. When she couldn't convince him, she prayed to me for help. As you well know, gods can very rarely interfere with mortals, especially their own children. There are ancient regulations against it, lest we upset the balance, lest we upset Destiny. I tried to be discrete with my assistance… but I failed them."

She glared at the table, hands clenched and shoulders trembling. "When I didn't directly confront them, I embittered them. To begin, I was never the best parent, as is the case for most gods. To them, it must have felt like I really _didn't_ care about them. So, they left camp together, along with the daughter of Envy and a sizable gathering of half-bloods."

Perseus slid out of the booth, realizing that the opportunity had presented itself for him to leave. It had been long enough not to warrant suspicion, while also falling on a good moment of sentimentality to where the focus was mostly directed at Pax's grievances.

Jason glanced up at his rising form, to which Perseus mouthed the word 'bathroom', giving himself an effective cover-story. In return, he received a nod of understanding, giving him an indirect green-light to leave. At least, he could rationalize it that way, should questions come up later.

Slipping away, he made for the restaurant's far end, where the signs for the bathroom pointed. He brushed by several people, doing his best to stay inconspicuous and unassuming.

When he passed the front doors, he risked glancing back to where the goddess sat with his centurions. Seeing that each party was still entertaining the other with their courtesy pushed him to act quick.

He slid behind the profile of a rotund woman to hide from view, moving with her and exiting through the doors.

 **[[AaMT]]**

An ardent chill greeted him to the outside, rustling the few blooming trees that lined the parking lots perimeter. The lamp posts around the lot were on in full force, lighting most of what he could see with their harsh white rays. Night had mostly settled itself in the mountain town. Licks of pale orange were caught clinging to the horizon, dying away to signal the full end of day.

Hands being stuffed in his pockets, Perseus walked a brisk pace away from the windows, having no desire to be spotted and questioned by his peers. With roaming eyes, he scanned for the war god that summoned him. He moved along the building's edges, going toward the rear.

A few rough-looking people were loitering near the restaurant's concrete walls. They took notice of him, a lone teenager prowling the shady corners, and stopped their talking.

With one glare, Perseus seemingly cowed them back into their private conversation. He stalked past the small group, turning the final corner. There, beneath a single wall light, Mithras stood, sunflower-yellow hair color battling against the dark.

The closer he got to the god, the more he felt anger burn every fiber of his body.

What he wouldn't give to _rend_ that smug, sneering, condescending smirk off the god's face. Permanently.

Impetus felt alive between his teeth, sending small stabs across his tongue and the roof of his mouth.

Mithras turned to him, hand falling to the pommel of his saber, corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement and satisfaction. At the same time, lilac antagonism dominated those same eyes.

"I hope you weren't stupid enough to be seen leaving."

Perseus fought the overwhelming impulse to lash out. Instead, he chose to glare. "Do you need something else?"

"Not particularly," Mithras said, ever-present grin in place.

"Then why force me out here?"

"Force? I never recall forcing you to meet with me. Was this not a choice made on your part?" Mithras chuckled. "What brought you here, I wonder then. Curiosity, perhaps? A sense of necessity? Were you… no… you couldn't possibly have been… hoping for a fight… right?"

"What are you implying?"

"A lot of things, actually. My main focus is on your amazing desire for conflict. I can feel it, you know. And the thing that makes it all the better to watch? You're going through with that predisposition, undeveloped and incomplete."

Perseus held his ground as the god took a step closer. "With all _due_ respect, would you stop wasting my time out here, behind a fast-food restaurant. It's insulting."

Even though Mithras stood the same height, his presence was larger than life, displayed by the booming laugh that withered the weeds in the pavement. "That's what I like to hear. Good to know you have the courage to stand up to a god. Even more power to you, considering that this particular god could ruin you with but a slip of the lip."

The glare deepened into a furious scowl. His patience was wearing thin, what with the god playing games in the cold. Had he been able to get away with it, he'd have already plunged Impetus into Mithras' skull. The satisfaction he felt from the image alone enticed him to do just that, consequences be damned.

He didn't deign to respond anymore. Standing anywhere near the god was basically torture. Rage bubbled and boiled his blood, pushing him to the edge of violence every few seconds. How anybody could deal with the aura was beyond him. It was driving him insane.

Before he could turn around and leave, Mithras stopped him with a small shrug. "You're the only one."

Shifting his foot forward, Perseus raised an eyebrow at the statement. He pulled to the left, moving weight away from the god's right side, where the sword hung menacingly under his arm. "Only one for what?"

"Don't have to play coy," Mithras shook his head. "You're the only of your kind. No other being in creation has ever come from a union between human and Titan."

"How-?"

"I'm a war god. Did you think that subterfuge was beneath me in any way? Intrigue is a necessary part of conflict, and therefore the art falls within my domain. I don't have qualms about doing some cloak-and-dagger work for my own benefit."

Perseus weighed his options carefully. He could attack, or he could try to reason. While neither option sounded likely to succeed, as far as he was concerned, there wasn't a third option to take. Thinking further on the topic, he realized that him still living and breathing meant that Mithras must not have told anybody else.

An agenda was being pushed, one that apparently involved his continued survival against the odds.

"What would your silence for the foreseeable future cost?" he finally asked, wondering if there was a chance for bargaining. "Does this have something to do with your request?"

The amethyst storm came back in full force. The once predatory grin warped into something exceedingly aberrant; twisting away from dangerous, its malice growing ten-fold and swallowing everything in sight with deranged glee.

"Not the one I gave in there," Mithras breathed, drawing his blade out of its scabbard in one quick move. Under the single light, the steel glinted sharply. Deep red blood already oozed off the blade's edge, dripping to the ground below with patters that echoed across the immediate area, louder than they rightfully should have. "I have a different one."

Taking a step back, Perseus reached up and plucked Impetus from his teeth. "Do I want to know?"

"I think you do." The god advanced, each step slow and calm. "I have plenty of information that you'd find necessary for your health. Recall me saying that you were incomplete? Undeveloped? I wasn't lying. I've seen what your father could do on his worst day and frankly, you'd barely be able to win a fight against him then. Now that he's nearing full power? You wouldn't even push his heart-rate above eighty.

"Learning about you piqued my interest. I've watched you for a little, but you've disappointed me so far. I can only imagine how Iapetus must feel, knowing that you're his weakest son by a mile. Even that vulture-fucker, Prometheus, and the clown of Othrys, Epimetheus, are bigger threats than you. Considering how your father values strength, I'd say he doesn't put much stock in you at all."

Perseus sneered, feeling his own expression gnarl at the skin of his face. "And what information could you possibly provide that I'd find so _fucking_ interesting? If it's just more crude taunts, you can save it for somebody who gets their sick-kicks from being heckled."

"Nothing like that, I can assure you," Mithras said. He raised his free hand. Shimmering into view, a small leather-bound notebook dropped into his waiting palm. "I'll give it to you straight, kid. I want a fight, you and me. I can't start a fight, fact. _You_ can challenge _me_ , also fact. In exchange, I give you this notebook—whether you win or lose—which has a series of my handwritten observations on your father specifically, all related to his combat abilities.

"Before you decline, let me sweeten the deal, alright? We both know that as you are right now, you've got no chance. So, for both your sake of safety and my sake of entertainment, I'll let you read through what I have written down for a solid ten minutes before we get started. How does that sound? Plus, this way, you know that I'm good for my word. Pretty tempting, right?"

Yes, it really _was_ tempting. It felt like an offer that probably wouldn't be made again under such amiable circumstances, if Perseus were honest. The problem, of course, rested in that he wasn't sure that Mithras could be trusted. Having just met the god, his opinion was still bare-bones at best.

Even so, something—perhaps it was his instinct?—told him that Mithras wasn't lying. Maybe it was just his desire to grow his strength. Or maybe it was something that spoke the truth in its speculation.

It was difficult to choose an answer in the face of his own self-imposed pressure. He really, truly, wanted to finally learn more about what he had the potential to do. Power was literally within arm's reach. All he had to do was acquiesce to fight an age-old god of war that could probably kill him in a million different ways. Easier than cake.

"This isn't a fight to the death, is it?" Perseus finally asked, realizing that he needed certain assurances before making a final decision.

Mithras chuckled and waved his sword around excitedly. "No, not my intention. Unless you want it to be. Then I think I can agree. Oh, what fun that would be."

"No, I don't think I wanna die today. What about level of injury?"

"Where's the confidence? I think I found you more interesting when you put on that arrogant air," the god lamented. "As for injuries? Well, I won't rough you up too terribly. This fight is more to satisfy my curiosity than to actually harm you. I want to know the baseline, so I can see the progress you make. Oh, what fun it'll be to watch somebody like you grow into your rightful power. I can't _wait_ to see how you _use_ it. Imagine the wars you might start! The battles you'll fight! Yes… yes-yes-yes-yes-yes-YES! You'll burn acres with fire, collapse buildings with but a thought, restore permanent damage to your body with a gentle touch! Armies, both mortal and not, will fall before you. It will be euphoric, knowing that it was _I_ who brought the beginning of such destruction."

Perseus felt unease creep into his chest at the sudden shift in Mithras' demeanor. If nothing else, the outburst at least compelled him to believe Mithras actually did want to give him the notebook. Or was the god of war really that persuasive of an actor? Subterfuge was an art of deception and skulduggery, after all. If Mithras really wasn't beneath using those tactics…

It didn't matter. He'd reached a conclusion. It was one made out of the sheer madness of the situation, but it nonetheless reflected what he wanted. The opportunity was too captivating. He would need the power sooner or later. Getting a solid start on learning the occult abilities he might possess because of who he descended from was a gift.

Fueling his anger into Impetus, the toothpick morphed into his spear, rife with a bond of shared aggression. "I'll challenge you then. A brawl is surely brewing… and I'd be remiss to back down from taking a bold step forward. So c'mon, Mithras, God of Arms and Patron of Soldiers. Let's fight."

* * *

 **A/N: I own no song or movie I reference. That would be straight awesome though, ya know? I probably wouldn't have to work or finish my degree. I could just write full-time. I'll admit, figuring out which song to introduce Mithras with was a pain. Eventually, I narrowed it down to _Holy Diver_ by Dio; _The Trooper_ by Iron Maiden; _Back in the Saddle_ by Aerosmith; and of course _Sweet Escape_ by Gwen Stefani ft. Akon. **

**Yes, that last one is serious. I need more humor in my life, sue me.**


	10. Function, Form, and Godly Stratification

**_Review Response-_**

 **ChrisBMWW155326: Great songs.**

 **Death Fury: Thanks!**

 **Ron-Jans: Glad you've enjoyed it!**

 **50shadesofgreyson: Allow me to acquiesce that; Let's GO!**

 **Jet: Yeah, Ch. 9 looked like it was the least popular so far. Can't win 'em all, though. Thanks for the feedback!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not make any money off this work of fanfiction. All rights for the characters in Percy Jackson and the Olympians and Heroes of Olympus go to Rick Riordan and all who were involved in the creation of the novels.**

* * *

10\. Function, Form, and the Properties of Godly Stratification: an examination of reconciliation

* * *

Perseus gripped his spear tight. Under the final vestiges of day, he waited to hear a response. The challenge was issued, half-cocked and declared through his rousing sense of aggravation. All he could do was wait to hear what response he met with.

Staring into the violet blaze that opposed him, the decision suddenly seemed stupid. It wasn't as if he'd been guaranteed to walk away with both life and limb perfectly intact. What assurances could have even been given to him? He didn't know of anything that forced a god into a contract. He was working off of good-will alone, which didn't inspire much confidence in him.

Not the smartest choice he'd ever made.

Mithras' shoulders shook, short snickers leaving through clenched teeth in sporadic gaps. "Now that's an attitude I can get behind. I love the spirit, kid. Here, as promised."

The notebook soared through the air, almost hitting Perseus in the face had he not caught it at the last second. It was a small thing. Perhaps only three by five inches and not thick in the slightest. Cracked leather wrapped around the front and back cover, giving the worn journal a decent enough appearance.

Just as he went to flick it open, a finger pressed itself onto his chest.

He was given the barest of seconds to process that Mithras had closed the gap between them. Then the world was sucked into a void, taking him along with it. For a few awful seconds, all he could feel was his gastrointestinal tract being forced up through his nose, right before things became clear once more.

His knees nearly failed him, something that his brain had no trouble doing, vision shattering into a thousand different pieces. He could only see small dots as they danced across his eyes, sending his balance off-kilter. Even though he wanted to stay calm, instinct took over as each of his senses failed. A staggered step back saw him almost falling to the suddenly squishy ground.

Instead of panicking further, he brought a clenched fist up to his face, biting deep into his first knuckle. Slower than he would've liked, the nausea passed, taking with it the shattered sight-pattern.

The world came together at last.

Mithras was tossing his saber back and forth between each hand, watching him like a hawk. Around them, cabbage—or some other leafy green food—sprouted from the ground in abundance, marking great rows of vegetables that spread for a good distance onward. The soil underfoot was soft and malleable, almost sucking him into the ground.

Looking at the darkened sky, he found thick clouds covering most of the moon. The only reason he could see at all was because of a floating ball of fire several feet above him. The warm glow of orange light brightened an otherwise black battleground.

"Ten minutes… tick… tock… tick… tock."

The god's voice startled him back into the severity of his situation. Wasting time observing his surroundings wasn't optimal. He only had a handful of minutes to learn enough so he could put up a half-way decent fight.

Clenching his hand, his eyes widened at the realization that neither palm held anything. Head swiveling down, he frantically scanned the area in search of both his missing items. He'd never even realized that he let go of them. Of all the times to lose Impetus, right before a fight was probably the worst of them all.

While turning around, his eye caught sight of something to his right.

His spear and the notebook, bundled on top of one another.

Letting go of a sigh, he scooped down and picked them up, flipping the book open to the first page. Had he been in almost any other situation, maybe he'd have acted more reverently toward the knowledge recorded by a god. Hell, he might've actually cared that it was written about his father—a Titan.

Given his time constraints, he opted to let his eyes devour the words jotted on each page in black ink. He scanned the pages, looking for keywords that would give him what he needed to know. Power. That's what first came to mind when pitted against a god.

Next came utilitarianism. He'd need something that could be useful in more ways than one. Options. Fast options that had options themselves. Something like that. An ability that could give him a slew of choices in the heat of battle. Keep the enemy guessing, and they'll be too focused on reacting to make proper moves.

He skimmed the first few pages, stopping once he noticed that what he was reading wasn't in English. Nor did it look like Greek or Latin. Instead of characters written with neat lines and curves, he saw a series of boxes with varying amounts of dots inside them. While he was tempted to question what language the notes were taken in, there wasn't time.

The more pressing concern was how he could understand the notes at all; with even that not being important enough to take attention away from his task.

When he didn't see anything that fit the criteria he'd ingrained into his mind, he started to flick through book faster. Most of the first few pages sounded introductory anyway. He could always return to the text for future study.

After searching for what felt like hours, he picked up on something that seemed right. Squinting, he read the heading title that was written in deep bold boxes and dots.

' _Titanic Energy? Better than nothing I guess.'_

 **[AaMT]**

Jason stopped and cocked his head to the side, seeing Lady Pax's distant scowl. "Erm, are you alright?"

The goddess took a moment to respond, her eyes finding their way out the windows. They narrowed, though there was some confusion tinging her face as well. "I'm not sure why, but I feel like something just changed. A shift in the currents of peace, if you will. It's almost as if… a decision was made… which will have consequences for years to come. How worrisome."

Not sure how to respond, he a look at Reyna, who returned his gesture with a worried shrug. Whatever the problem was, he really wasn't tempted to know much more about it. Already, he'd been given too much to think about. Adding more to his troubles might end up working against his favor, psychologically speaking.

With all that was happening, he'd have to keep calm. Reyna had talked to him on the bus ride while Percy slept, empathizing with him for his inclination to help people. More specifically, she'd brought up the train incident, coaxing him to speak with her on the subject.

He knew discussing it was for the best. True, the topic was an uncomfortable one since he'd failed as a leader—which he now recognized, with a little help—but talking it over with somebody more understanding helped him come to terms with his actions.

Yes, he'd failed clinically speaking. Still, their quest continued with each member relatively unharmed. Their duty to Camp Jupiter remained so long as they lived, which he intended to keep for as long as he could.

Even though he'd faltered at a pivotal moment, the circumstances saw fit to give him a second chance. If anybody but Percy had been on the quest with them… well, they probably would have all died trying to save those people.

Fate seemed to have different plans, though.

Or maybe Lady Vesta had somehow foreseen Percy's usefulness in remaining collected during tough situations. That could very well have been the reason she'd given the relative newcomer a chance to go on the quest. The more he thought about it, the more it sounded likely that Lady Vesta was a great judge of character.

"Enough about that, though," Lady Pax said, shaking her head in a quick, jarring motion. "Let's get back to the topic at hand. You two had questions to ask me, I believe."

Jason nodded briefly, looking at the goddess. "Yes. I have to wonder… do the traitors"—he noticed a flinch at his choice of words—"have any intention of willfully re-integrating themselves back into the legion? If they chose to leave, then what's stopping them from leaving again? Wouldn't it be fair to say that the gods can't really give more attention to us, since you're bound by whatever these ancient rules are?"

He paused, seeing her face grow dim, and tried to backtrack. "I suppose what I'm trying to say is… or rather, what I want to know… do you think things are going to change? Will the gods ever give us what we want?"

There came no response.

Sighing, he gave a rueful smile, trying to mask the disappointment from her telling silence. "Yeah, I didn't think it would be so easy. Can't blame me for hoping, though."

"It isn't that we don't… no… most of us _do_ want to be there with our children!" Lady Pax interjected with vehemence. Her expression betrayed her tone, though, only further painting a frustrating image. "But we can't ignore these regulations. They're there for a reason! Destiny is a fickle thing. It can be changed with the slightest of whispers, the softest of nudges.

"Already, there are millions of strands of Fate for every mortal. Each one is predicated on the line that attaches to it before, and before that, and before that. It's something like a web. Gods are like storms, ruining each intricate weave without hesitance. We _must_ be kept in check, otherwise, we might unknowingly begin a series of events that spiral out of our control."

Reyna inched forward, pressing her face close to Jason's right shoulder. "Who made these laws, if I may ask? My mother once told me about them, but nothing concrete. It doesn't seem like anybody else knows much either. And all the information in New Rome's library doesn't give anything solid."

"Who else could it have been, other than Necessitas herself? She is a dictator of Fate, in the most literal and connotative of meanings. Her laws are binding. Some more than others. Those rules which apply to our interaction with mortals are especially stringent. Gods break those rules, and they were swiftly given their sentence. She is judge, jury, and executioner. Necessitas knows no mercy in that respect."

The goddess grimaced, her lips were pursed and her neck muscles became visible. Her amber eyes became glassy and lost in some faraway place. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet and filled with morbid fascination. "You've never experienced fear until you hear the _wretched death throes_ of a god being forcefully _stripped_ of their domain. After that, when you think the screaming has stopped because their vocal cords have torn, their immortal essence is _rent_ from them. They bleed from every valid orifice, ichor changing from gold into bronze, then into red blood.

"I wouldn't call what they do screaming, after that. It's _ungodly_. Horrible. Then… well then comes the spindle. It ascends from the earth itself, shining brighter than the celestial bodies themselves. Strings of gold and silver wrap around each appendage of the offender, tight enough to bulge their skin. The spindle turns, slow and methodical. It _pulls_. It _tears_. And so the Fatebinder kills the lawbreaker. Destiny changes, apparently for the better."

With a hollow chuckle, she set her folded her trembling hands on the table, gripping her fingers with crushing force. She released a shaky breath and screwed her eyes shut.

Jason felt his eyes stay wide even after she'd finished telling the story. He'd never figured that the gods could be killed in such a manner. Most of the gods who weren't around anymore had faded, due to either their domain being diminished or through their essence being scattered and unable to reform. Actually _killing_ a god, though, hadn't really been a possibility.

Gods were dignified. They didn't scream in pain.

Gods were powerful. They didn't let themselves get torn apart.

Gods were immortal. They didn't bleed like mortal creatures. _They couldn't die_.

"How many?" he asked.

"More than you might think," Lady Pax whispered. "We are foolish… prideful beings. Often, we think ourselves the master of our own destiny. But that just isn't true. Everybody's fate is forever changing, never _truly_ set in stone. There are an almost unlimited amount of outcomes for any one creature. All we can do is play along. Necessitas isn't a normal entity. She does not have scruples when something concerns her laws. Her word is absolute. Unlike us, she cares for nothing except for the title of Destiny. Luckily for mortals, she has no regulations leveled against you. Otherwise, I fear your entire people might have already fallen to her tyranny."

He felt his stomach sink further. "I see. Well, it's understandable that you'd want to keep yourself intact. At least the reasons are fair."

"I don't get it," Reyna said. "How are the Titans waging war then? Wouldn't they have to fight demigods to win? Isn't that breaking the whole 'no fighting unless challenged' deal?"

"Such is the reason they've gathered that large force of monsters and other demigods. Such is the reason they have not yet destroyed Camp Jupiter with their power, even while Othrys lies so close. Such is the reason that Saturn keeps himself locked in a mortal shell for the time being, biding his time in case he needs to step into the fray. The Titans have made many concessions to fight against the gods. If not for Necessitas' laws, I fear that this country would already have become a wasteland, ruined by the struggle between deities. Make no mistake, though, that eventually the Titans will slip up. I have no doubt that one of them will foolishly attack a demigod, forcing the Fatebinder's hand once more. Hyperion, most likely. He is far too brash."

Taking a sip of his soda, he moistened his dry mouth. Suddenly, it was becoming clear. The Titans hadn't just up and started to wage war without a plan. They'd already been working behind the scenes to amass large numbers of monsters to their cause, specifically to combat demigods. They were cutting off the gods' minor allies, lowering the number of potential enemies they would have to battle against by swaying half-bloods. They weren't attacking the country's infrastructure to weaken the West, all to avoid killing random civilians.

The Titans had planned for a long war if necessary.

"Can we win against Saturn and his forces?" He forced his voice not to tremble, channeling his inner Percy-face.

Lady Pax stared long and hard, the olive branch in her hand glowing softly with wisps of gold power. "There's little doubt in my mind. Against his monster forces, the gods can assist. Against his small demigod forces, your dedication will surpass their will. What I'm worried about is Saturn himself. With his essence mixed in a mortal shell… us gods might not be able to attack him first. He'll surely use this to his advantage and remain inside of his host until his full power returns.

"Once that happens… well… if he learned anything from the last Titan War, he'll keep his brothers close. United, the Elder Titans cannot lose. Four of them were enough to hold Caelus, the Sky himself. If all six brothers stand together, nothing can be guaranteed."

 **[AaMT]**

Perseus had just started to turn a new page on the subject of Titanic Energy when he was interrupted by a rather chilling declaration.

"Time's up, kid!" Mithras called. His earnest baritone cut through the otherwise imposing silence of night. Sword swinging through the air, he caught his saber in one hand with a flourish of bloody steel. Flecks of red flew through the air, staining a few cabbages with small droplets. "En garde."

The god advanced with a sprint, running between the vegetable column at an inhuman clip. Purple eyes burned brighter than the orange flames that hovered above, gleaming with crazed delight. Once within range, he made his first attack, telegraphed clear as day.

Impetus raised to intercept the downward slash. The air hissed as both weapons met, a loud screech of defiance racing across the field. Perseus tucked the small notebook in his back pocket, hoping it wouldn't be lost in the ensuing fight. He pushed back against the god's formidable strength before disengaging himself.

Keeping fair distance would be a must. Impetus was probably a good two feet longer than Mithras' saber, which meant that it held the reach advantage. He'd have to be an idiot not to take initiative after successful guard breaks.

Sweeping low with his spear, he swung it in a massive arc, aiming for the ankles. Debilitating his opponent would also be necessary. By the way he'd run, it was clear that Mithras held the upper-hand in terms of speed.

That is, unless one of his legs was crippled.

Perseus watched as the spear was stopped dead due to Mithras' own saber having come around. He was pushed back by a rapid swipe at his face, irritated that his foe had closed the gap once more. Ducking under another slash, he choked up on Impetus and used the shortened length to drive a counter.

Their blades met again, locking as the saber's edge ground audibly on Impetus' wing.

"You know," he grunted, staring at the god curiously, "I can't really figure out why you're going to all this trouble to help me. What've you got to gain?"

Mithras grinned wider and pushed with more strength. "That's the million dollar question right there, kid. I might just want to see you break some things. This felt like the best way to do it. Of course, along the way, no doubt you'd get some of my dirty work done for me. Anybody who claims to have nothing but your best interests at heart is either dishonest... or your parent. Sometimes it can be both."

They backed off at the same time, pedaling away before rushing in once more. Blows were exchanged with extended vigor, each attack taking its toll. Being a mortal, he'd expected to fight fatigue, but for his expectation to bear fruit so soon was disheartening. He would damn his human half; if only that hadn't been basically like damning his mother, which he wasn't particularly privy to do.

Truth be told, so far into the fight, he'd figured to have been a bit bloodied but ready to continue for hours. He wouldn't have pegged himself being practically uninjured yet wheezing from the strain. Maybe he overestimated his opponent and underestimated himself?

Possible, if somewhat unlikely.

Bringing his arm up to block another slash, he saw Mithras yank his own sword away and redirect his attack in the span of a second. Instead of coming from the left, the saber was suddenly approaching from the ground up, ready to split his head in two. Making a quick judgment call, Impetus came up between them to slow the sword's upward movement just enough for him to dive out of harm's way.

His shoulder hit the ground as he rolled to his feet, already having to duck another string of rapid-fire thrusts and swings from his opponent.

Expending too much energy would be bad. He was feeling the effects of prolonged combat. No doubt, a god's constitution was higher than his own, meaning he'd need to find a way to land a good, solid hit with either Impetus or his _rending_. Both would work in delivering massive damage if placed in the right area.

One hit could end it all.

Unfortunately, the sentiment went both ways.

Good that he still had a plausible trump card to pull, then. The information on Titanic Energy had been extremely interesting to read, even if most of it had focused on the theoretical aspect. At least there was a bit of practical application in using the power.

All he needed to do was _want_ to do it.

During his reading, he'd realized that he might have actually been unwittingly using a deviant version of Titanic Energy whenever he threw a pilum back in Camp Jupiter. With each toss, he'd felt like the javelins propelled themselves forward faster than normal when leaving his hand.

If he could recreate that feeling only propelling the particles around him, he'd be in like Flynn.

To his chagrin, he hadn't measured his time properly and ended up fighting before testing his theory. He wasn't sure it would work the way he wanted. In addition, Mithras no doubt already knew about the Titanic Energy, which meant he wouldn't be caught off guard by a direct usage of the power.

Creativity was key. The ideal situation would see him make an opening and then successfully execute a technique he was mostly unfamiliar with.

Cake.

He blocked another incoming attack, locking their weapons once more. "So how did you go from a Persian sun god to a Roman war god anyway? Seems like a downgrade if you ask me."

Mithras sneered. "Oh, in some ways it was. I hated having forgone my roots for a few decades. Despised myself, in fact. The Roman conquest of the Ancient Near East should have sounded my death knell, had I not managed to catch the fancy of those passing conquerors. It was then that I was presented a choice: either move with the currents of time, or forever be lost to the annals of history. As you can see, I chose the latter!"

The god back away and spun around, delivering a raging back fist that caught Perseus across the cheek.

Staggering away, he grimaced at the warm glow in his jaw. He blinked just in time to see the saber coming for his gut. Through a quick twist of his foot, he managed to keep himself from being impaled, suffering a long gash along his ribs for the trouble.

Hot pain forced a hiss of anger and discomfort from his lips, fighting past his clenched teeth. Letting his eyes fall on the wound, he figured the danger of bleeding out was slim.

A quick breath of cool air calmed his zealous nerves. The timing was still off. He wasn't sure if he could use the Titanic Energy the way he was planning, though he hoped that enough desire was the key.

Who would have figured bending universal laws was hard?

If he could buy himself just another minute…

"Some of those attacks could've killed me, ya know?"

Mithras laughed. "I said that killing you wasn't my _intention_. Not that I would go out of my way to ensure your safety. Don't think, not even for a minute, that your life is guaranteed against me. If you die during the warm-up, then all the better. I save myself the trouble of having taken an interest in a worthless child. If you live, then at least I know you're worth my time. Tell me, how does it feel to fight a god?"

"Well, first blood goes to you," he acknowledged with a grudging nod. "Took longer than I expected from a war god though. Color me disappointed. Maybe you'd have done better in your Persian form?"

"Whether I could or couldn't have isn't a matter of discussion," Mithras replied. "War is all that I am now. My other persona died long ago. Once I fully accepted my new position… I became what I claimed to be."

"And is that really so great?" he asked, buckling his torso's weight away from the injured side. "Isn't your job position a bit saturated by now? I mean, how many Roman gods of war are there? Bellona, Mars, Nerio, Quirinius, Securitas—to some extent… what's so special about you?"

A snarl edged its way onto the god's mouth, deforming his grin into something animalistic and rabid. "Those names mean nothing to me. They are _not_ the ones who revel in war like I do. They don't gorge themselves on the blood of an enemy like I do. None of them incite conflict— _like I do!_ I am the specter of terror in battle, the horror of brutality in dealing with civilians, the pestilence that sweeps across lands once fertile! It is _war_ that makes people stronger. It is _war_ that _molds_ the strongest beings of this world. Civilizations rise and fall through war and the lack thereof. Every nation is born of bloodshed. Every person alive today is only breathing because their ancestors fought and _died_ on the battlefield.

"My domain will not be denied its rightful place among the lives of mortals and immortals alike! I _refuse_ to see it be crushed by _peace_ of all things! War… war never changes. Boiled down to its simplest formula, it is conflict. The means may change, the scale may differ, the reasons might shift, but make no mistake… war is what keeps us in motion. And I plan to force the wheel to move if I have to. Those other gods don't actively create war. If they don't, then _I will_. May their carrion bloat the crows into decadent decay."

Perseus listened half-heartedly to the tirade, more focused on finding his second-wind and playing his hand in proper form. He'd managed to keep Mithras talking long enough.

He was confident.

It would work.

Giving the god a grim smile, he couldn't help but comment, "A Fallout reference. 1997. It suits you."

He heaved Impetus over his head with one hand, bringing the butt of his spear down onto the ground with as much force as he could muster, envisioning his stamina draining and pushing out from his body.

The influence he exerted over reality was tenuous at best, only barely formed and not very intrinsic. Even so, a bubble of expanding energy exploded from around him, blasting dirt, rock, and vegetables into the air. The invisible sphere didn't push very far, only moving three feet or so before all outward energy randomized in the phenomenon of entropy, being dispersed around him and into the open field.

No matter the technique's power, it served his purposes in perfect order, sending some debris directly into Mithras' face.

Taking the opportunity, he domineered the energy again, this time having a smaller bubble expand just beneath the sole of his right shoe. When he forced it to expand, he did so with greater care, only to curse himself as his plan played out.

Not having compensated for the singular, high-speed force driving into an unstable part of his body, he didn't so much propel himself forward in a smooth manner as he did fly through the air, twisting and flailing without control. He made a mental note that future attempts would need fine tweaking, probably by compensating for the rapid change in velocity of one vector by applying equal force toward other parts of his body in hopes of reaching equilibrium.

As he soared, Mithras' surprised expression came into view, giving him just enough warning to brace for an inevitable impact.

Crashing into a god was comparable to being thrown against a tree trunk. It hurt a lot, that is to say.

His forearms took the brunt of the damage, having risen to shield his head. The collision hurt more than he would've imagined, and for a moment he was afraid that his arms had been broken.

Thinking fast, he managed to roll his body up as it hit the ground, letting him recover quickly. Movement at the corner of his eye made him move. An edge of wet metal whisked across his cheek, cutting thin.

Again, the steel came for him.

Lowering himself, he charged under the swing, ramming his shoulder into Mithras' stomach. A grunt of discomfort let him know that he'd struck true.

A fist passed in front of his nose, him having moved his head back enough to dodge. He blocked another attack from the right and rammed the shaft of his spear into the god's ribs, hoping to peel away for a time and catch his breath.

Mithras, however, seemed to have no intention of letting him escape from the close-quarter exchange. The enemy pressed hard, swinging with sword, fist, and foot, moving fast and using constant stance switches to jumble his offensive pattern.

Every time their weapons clashed, the air warbled and hissed venomously, like the death throes of an animal. Blood splattered against his face from the ever-dripping saber, forcing him to wipe it away at consistent intervals of time, should he not want to be blinded.

The sword rushed to claim his head.

Impetus spun around and knocked it off course, following up with a few crooked thrusts.

The saber parried each stab. It only took the lightest of flicks on the god's part to divert his attacks.

He took a step back only to find Mithras invading his space once more. Red metal nearly cleaved his arm clean from the shoulder. With a ready spear, he caught the vertical slash and twisted his body, locking the saber with Impetus' wings before driving it down into the dirt. With the stained weapon trapped, Perseus grinned and threw a wide-arcing right hook.

Knowing that he was losing the fight of attrition gave him incentive to act on hints of desperation. Two bubbles of Titanic Energy acquiesced to his command, one forming behind his right arm's triceps and the other behind its forearm. Expanding the spheres of force, his arm rocketed around faster than he anticipated.

A fraction of a second was all it took for his fist to bury itself in Mithras' cheek.

The god was lifted off the ground and sent careening back several yards.

It was a short-lived victory, though. With his arm aching with the most terrible pain he'd ever felt, Perseus dropped to one knee. Low rasps crackled past his throat.

From his upper back all the way to the fingertips of his arm, agony lanced through each nerve. Agony of burning, throbbing, and shredding. Spasming muscles sporadically made the wounded appendage twitch, each jolt torturous.

A brief glance down at his hand later had him figuring that a few knuckles were broken. Given how terrible he felt, no doubt the same was true for the bones further up. Never having been the recipient of broken bones before, he couldn't rightfully describe the pain.

But gods did it fucking hurt.

Another noise—similar to a stifled scream of anger—rippled in his chest and out his mouth.

His eyes looked to where Mithras had landed, hoping to find his foe in an equal amount of pain, just for vindication's sake. At least they could share the agony.

The god was already on his feet, dusting himself off with his free hand. His hair was somewhat mussed; the only indication he'd been struck at all. Worst yet, that damnable grin was still set in place, two gleaming rows of pearlescent teeth shimmering in the firelight.

' _Fuck you too, then, you son of a bitch,'_ he mentally growled, not trusting himself to speak. He brought up his left hand, middle finger and thumb pressed tight together. With a snarl, he snapped, draining his stamina to where even kneeling became a chore.

Satisfaction eclipsed frustration as the side of Mithras' face was torn open, spurting ichor through the air in shiny arcs.

His foe reeled back, hands clutching the left side of his face. Liquid gold spewed from between his gloved fingers, falling to the dirt below in greedy, turbulent globs. The hovering ball of fire flickered for a moment as the god fell to one knee himself. It was impossible to see behind his hands, but Perseus was sure that the damage he'd done was substantial.

"Now your cooking with gas, kid!" Mithras shouted with glee, pushing himself to his feet and picking up the fallen saber. He gave a half-grin, ichor still escaping from the carved line that extended from the bottom of his jaw to his hairline. His left eye was closed and covered in gold as well from where the wound had traveled. A few specks of red intermingled with the gold, probably from the saber's constant dribble. "This is the most fun I've had since I fought Mars Ultor in 'Nam! Let's go even further. Let's paint the dirt red and gold, shall we?"

Sword lifted high, the atmosphere became charged with power. A shearing wind whipped around them, almost sending Perseus tumbling to the ground. What little heat the ball of flame emitted disappeared, lost in the sudden chill that swept across the field with frosty fingers. Soon, the ground trembled and shook.

He wanted to stand. Standing would have been optimal, if only to show that he was willing to die on his feet. Oh, he had no intention of dying, of course, but the sentiment would have remained, at the very least.

No matter how hard he tried, though, the muscles in his legs refused to move. Add excruciating pain to exhaustion, and there proved a tough formula to fight against. Most of his mental capacity was going to keeping an unwavering scowl on his face.

The earth slowed in its grumbling, ebbs of movement coming to a solemn close.

Without further warning, a skeletal hand broke free of the loose soil. Starch-white bone grasped hungrily at the open air above it, digits clenching and unclenching in a rapid series of motions. Following that, more hands shot up, rows and columns forming in vast numbers, stretching back behind Mithras as far as he could see.

The winds howled with fury and the fire roared above, having become a twisting vortex of embers that threatened to swallow miles of land with wanton fierceness.

Looking back down, he saw that the skeletons had risen fully, all garbed in uniforms similar to what Mithras wore. Their tunics were of varying colors, ranging from gray, blue, red, and white. Some wore other accessories, like hats or medals, though all cradled archaic firearms in their hands.

They shifted from side to side, skulls turning to take in their surroundings. How they moved without ligaments and muscles was a question Perseus was sure to ask if he survived the encounter. In the end, he figured it didn't matter much at that particular moment.

One of the skeletons closer to Mithras turned and addressed the god, voice sounding hollow, his gray uniform fluttering. "You are not Ares. How have we come to be here, in the land of the living, once more?"

"True, I'm not the Greek. For now, though, I am your god. You bow to me, you serve me, you are mine to command. For I am Mithras, Patron of Soldiers. Your afterlives are mine to do with as I see fit, General Jackson. Truth be told, I summoned you here for irony's sake."

"Irony?" Skeleton Jackson cocked his skull, scratching the bottom of his jaw with his rifle. "Not sure what you mean by that. If you have something for me to do, though, might I recommend telling me. I'd rather not spend more time up here than strictly necessary. Can't say I'm too fond fighting beside Blue boys, either."

Mithras waved away the complaint. "They're not Union, if that's what you're getting at. They're French. And the irony is that I want you to shoot that kid over there. His name's Perseus Jackson."

Skeleton Jackson clicked his teeth together a few times. "Any relation?"

"Maybe," the god shrugged, his grin growing wider. "Doesn't matter, though. You'll be following my command even if you don't like it." He raised his saber again, voice booming across the storm of wind and fire. "Soldiers! Two ranks, ten files!"

In concert, the undead did as they were told, marching into their two rows and ten columns. As the front row took to one knee, Perseus realized how the situation would play out.

He struggled to move. His legs trembled under his focused attention, each thigh feeling heavier than a concrete block. Sweat trickled down from his scalp, moving along the contours of his cheeks and nose. Though his rebellious body fought against his will, he didn't stop in his efforts.

"Raise and aim!"

" _No way in hell am I dying here.'_ Through the haze of vitriolic anger and raw torment, a few thoughts managed to take hold. Dust swirled around him as the winds buffeted his exposed skin. Occasional wisps of orange fire licked at him, hoping to set ablaze what they landed on. _No fucking way. I've come too far!'_

Searching for the barest scrap of energy still left in him, Perseus pulled his knee off the ground, rising under the nearly unbearable weight of his exhaustion. Meeting Mithras' eyes, he snarled as the god gave him an amused glance.

The saber fell to point at him. "Fire!"

Still holding on to that flimsy crumb of stamina, he set the last of his determination in stone and took a single step forward, bring his foot down to crash into the earth. His ears filled with thunder when the first row of undead unloaded their rifles. In simultaneous fashion, a final wave of Titanic Energy pushed out. Since he lacked the stamina for a full bubble, he'd opted to send it out as a cresting cone of power instead, draining himself so that it would reach the unit wall.

It happened faster than he could process. Once where there stood well over one-hundred skeletal soldiers, no longer did he see any. Most of the area looked gouged and torn, an expanding trench that grew wider as its length increased.

He blinked once.

Another crack of thunder, and he stumbled forward.

He blinked again.

Sharp and flaming pain pierced the upper-right part of his torso, just under the shoulder. Blood gushed from a hole there, seeping into the nice shirt he'd paid good money for.

 _He liked that band, dammit!_

Grasping at the wound, he forced his head to turn.

Standing behind him, still pointing a silver revolver, Mithras watched on with curious interest.

"Checkmate," the god said. His words were deliberate and more restrained than before. There still swirled an undercurrent of jubilant madness, but it was overshadowed by something dourer. It lay on his face, hidden under a thin layer of drying ichor. _Intense w_ _ary regard_. "Definitely thought you'd dodge that though." He sighed and stared at the gun, frowning at the glinting metal. When he lifted his eyes again, he gave a small shrug of acceptance. "Either way, that was a good fight, kid. I've got a new scar to show for it, in the end. Give it some time, one day you..."

Perseus swayed on his feet, shivering at the sudden bout of chills that beset him. A block of ice took residence in his chest, contrasting nicely with the burning pain in his shoulder and arm. He couldn't hear what Mithras was saying, only able to catch a few more words before he tumbled forward.

Before he hit the ground, something caught him by his good arm, holding him up.

"Don't go dying on me now, kid." Mithras chuckled. "Just take a breather while I patch you up, alright? Then we'll crack open a cold one and have a laugh at the situation."

Bleary-eyed and taxed to his limit, Perseus let his head droop.

 _'...Did I just blow away "Stonewall" Jackson?'_

Rest sounded like a good plan.

 **A/N: If only I'd set the story in 2017. So many memes I could reference and make characters fully aware of. Oh, and more hints of the endgame in this chapter. Will it be a surprise? Probably not. Still, its there for the barely-discerning eye to catch.**

 **I might keep chapters around this length to get the story rolling a tad faster. I think it might strike a decent balance between description and progress. Depends on the subject, of course. Might even let me get stuff out faster (no promises). I'd like to hear what you all think on that though. If people bother with these ANs.**


	11. Faustus

**_Review Response-_**

 **Malosi06: For now, BotC isn't really jiving with me. I can't seem to stay motivated enough to write more than a hundred words at a time before deleting what I wrote. I'd rather not force myself to write, since I do this for fun and as a pastime. I don't want it to become a chore. For now, the story is on hold. Sorry if that isn't what you wanted to hear, though I appreciate your support for the story. Hopefully I'll be more motivated in the future.**

 **Jet: Thanks for the feedback! The consequences of godly interference will eventually make themselves known. Maybe it'll be fun to see play out.**

 **Ipodan: I think both Hyperion and Kronos used Titanic Energy when fighting Percy in TLO, and I thought it sounded like a fun thing to mess with. Thanks for your thoughts.**

 **Guest: Thank you for the compliments. I like it when I'm immersed in what I read, so I try to emulate the styles that give that feel through my own writing. Overall, I'm glad you've enjoyed the story as it is so far.**

 **Disclaimer: I mean... I don't own PJO. Who would've figured?**

* * *

11\. Faustus

* * *

A green bottle flew his way, landing neatly in Perseus' outstretched hand. Though tired, he mustered the strength to lift Impetus and bring the bottle's cap to where the middle blade and right wing met. The lid flew off when he pushed up on his spear. A release of air whistled out of the bottle.

Across from him, Mithras raised his own drink. "To me, for going easy on you and healing your injuries! I astound myself with my generosity and kindness."

Perseus didn't return the toast, instead bringing the ice-cold beer to his lips. He heard the god chuckle as he took a deep swig. Three or four chugs later had him stopping for air and letting go of a long sigh. It didn't take him long to decide the beer tasted like shit.

Seated on a small hill overlooking their battlefield, he stared at the new trench he dug using Titanic Energy.

It hadn't been too long since their fight ended, maybe only a handful of minutes at most. Mithras was fairly talented at healing wounds, which worked well with the ambrosia that had supplemented his recovery after taking a bullet. Of course, Perseus wouldn't say he trusted the god in any way. Even though his body and mind sorely wanted to take a break, he'd forced himself to stay conscious throughout his treatment.

Taking his time to look at the ground, he couldn't help but ask. "Why?"

His question was purposefully vague. It would be telling to hear what Mithras responded with first, considering the litany of options available to choose from. He glanced down at his shoulder. An ache still lingered there. A very expected outcome of being shot, no doubt. Luckily, his once-broken arm was more or less feeling fine. Some light prickling was all that reminded him of the pain.

The answer to his question came in the form of a tickled, "Didn't I already answer this question?"

Ah, was that the game? He wasn't sure what to make of the war god, so trying to interpret such an evasive answer was tough. Just a few minutes prior, they'd been locked in combat, practically ready to kill one another if the situation called. He hadn't felt hesitation in defending himself, nor did he have any reason to hold back.

Sunflower Hair, on the other hand, seemed to have a vested interest in him.

Was he ever in real danger? Perseus didn't know the answer to that and he figured that Scarface wouldn't be willing to give a straight answer.

Whatever the reason for the fight, all that mattered in the moment was that he lived. Whether by luck, skill, a handicap, or some combination of the three—which he was inclined to believe—he'd managed to not only survive but permanently disfigure a god.

 _Damn he was good._

Oh, he still lost the fight in the end; that much wasn't up for debate, considering the bullet in his back. Hell, he wasn't even angry that he'd gone down. Who could win against an age-old god with only a few months worth of combat training? No, anger wasn't proper given the circumstances.

Disappointment, on the other hand…

Well, he reconciled that the chagrin was covered by confusion as to why he was still alive. Confused but thankful; a strange fusion of emotions, to be sure. Was that how Stockholm Syndrome started? If that were the case, he'd have to maintain distance from Mithras.

Another mouthful of beer washed down his throat, fizzing around his tongue. "Why'd you go easy on me?"

"You would be dead otherwise. How's that for an answer?"

Between them, a silence fell, prompting Mithras to explain further. "Alright, how about this… I knew you couldn't take me had I seriously tried to kill you. While I have no qualms culling the weak, I also see no need to kill potential allies."

A final sip saw his bottle emptied. He threw it away. "Is that what you see me as? An ally? I kinda find that hard to believe."

Mithras pulled another drink from the cooler he'd summoned and tossed it over. "A _potential_ ally, sure. We haven't made it far enough for me to offer my help should you need it quite yet. Maybe in the future, if you prove yourself capable of handling the small stuff, I'll ally myself with you."

"How would that help _me_ in any way? You already said that I was doing your dirty work. I _don't_ like to play as somebody else's janitor," he said, opening the new brew. "Allies tend to help one another out, and I don't see gods going out of their way to assist mortals."

One sharp amethyst eye crinkled with telltale entertainment. The other remained closed, still damaged from their fight. "A little information can all go a long way to keeping you alive. That's all I'm really willing to give at this point in time."

"Info on the Titans?" Perseus probed. He wasn't surprised, though he was interested to hear more on the topic. Even if that was all he could get, it'd be worth it in the long run.

"Yes," Mithras replied with a nod. "Like I said, I've got my sources, all about as reliable as you'd think. With a leak in their ranks, we've got a pretty decent chance of catching them off-guard when the time's right. Or, you do, at least. I have appearances to maintain, after all."

Able to draw his own conclusions, Perseus took a longer draft from his beer. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he looked at the twin balls of fire floating above them. "You're with the Titans, huh?"

"I don't align myself with Titans or gods. That said, I've helped the Titans here and there for some years now, mostly for my pride's sake after being an idiot and losing a fight to one of them.

"Officially, I'm still with the gods. Unofficially, though, I'm between loyalties at the moment, looking out for my own self-interests," Mithras said, waving his drink around, "not too different from you, technically. We're kindred spirits. Wanderers. Warriors. Like the Japanese rōnin. No gods, no masters, and all that jazz."

"Sure, whatever you say." Skepticism blanketed his tone, wondering why the god was trying to draw comparisons between the two of them. Knowing that Mithras worked with the Titans was a bit disconcerting, though not overly so. Just another way that he'd gotten lucky when issuing the challenge, realizing that if Scarface had wanted to kill him, he could have done it without consequence. "Sorry if I have a hard time believing your sudden interest in making connections with me. I don't know if you noticed, but you seem to be swimming in the deep-end. I'd rather stay on the shallow side of things, where the water is clear and easy to wade through. Or maybe I'll take a siesta in a jacuzzi."

Mithras grinned at his response. "Your suspicion is warranted and welcome in equal measures. Keep that attitude and you'll live long enough in this world to realize you've been surrounded by people you kept at arm's length. Nobody you really trust and nobody who really trusts you. It's a lonely road, that one. Take it from an old dog of war like me; it might be better to stay with the most reliable people around you."

Scoffing, Perseus rotated his aching shoulder a few times. "Don't patronize me. You don't seem to have any friends either."

"Sorry, kid, but I'm the Patron of Soldiers, remember? It's in the job title. You're right that I don't have friends. Most gods don't, actually. A byproduct of our nature. Trust me, though, one person can't win a war on their own. You're just lucky you have some beneficiaries who've taken a shine to you."

Beneficiaries? Now that was an interesting thing to note. "And who might those be?"

Standing, the god threw his head back and downed the last of the bottle's contents. He let the glass crumble away into dust and vanished the cooler. His one violently violet eye stared with pointed scrutiny.

"I'll give you a hint, but then I'm sending you back to your friends." The words came in a crackling baritone, setting the hovering flames ablaze with unhinged zeal. Was that reluctance in his tone? It certainly sounded so. "That notebook isn't mine; I was just _asked_ to deliver it. Hell, I can't even read it. The language is an ancient one. Never heard it spoken before a few years ago, either."

Perseus said nothing. He pushed himself up, finishing his own beer as he did. Impetus was already back in his mouth as a toothpick, twisting between his molars while he pieced the words together. There really wasn't a way to tell if his inkling was correct other than asking outright. Be that as it may, Mithras had given him a pretty good idea of what was going on. Why it had been in such a vague and unnecessarily cryptic manner was beyond him, though.

He pat his back pocket. The notebook was still there.

 _Good_.

"I'll think about your request," he said, giving a noncommittal shrug. "Being a murderer doesn't exactly sound like fun to me, though. Thou shalt not kill and what have you. No promises."

Mithras laughed at that, gravelly and touched by morbid humor, putting his index finger on Perseus' chest. "You already are one, kid. I can tell. A murderer, that is. Killing your first person… didn't it make your heartbeat flutter?"

Before he could respond, the world he knew was torn apart and thrown into the darkest of voids.

 **[[AaMT]]**

"You… you… are you _kidding me_?"

Perseus scratched at his eyebrow, irritation starting to build up at the repeated question. That particular sentence had been all that either Jason and Reyna could say, apparently, when he'd told them about his duel.

Expected? Sure.

Annoying? Equally so.

He couldn't figure why they were so angry, truth be told. All he'd done was fight. Yeah, in the moment it had been pretty scary, feeling his life in such a precarious position, but when he looked back on it he couldn't rightfully say it hadn't been a blast.

Mithras had given him the best battle so far in his life. What exhilaration. Just thinking about it sent dull shivers through his body, setting his breath short and pushing his heart-rate. Next time he fought like that, he'd have to try even harder. Hopefully the notebook had more to teach him.

"You're kidding, right?"

Sighing, he shook his head and crossed his arms. "Yeah, I'm just kidding. So stop asking already."

"I don't believe you. Damn it, Percy, what were you thinking?" Reyna asked, her hushed whisper riddled with exasperation. "Challenging a god? He'd have been well within his power to kill you!"

"But he didn't. He made it clear that the intention wasn't to kill me. I made sure of that."

The seat beneath him felt increasingly uncomfortable with each jolt or rattle from the bus.

It had been some time since Mithras teleported him back to the Emperor Burger where his teammates were. By the time he'd arrived, Pax had already left, making him wish he could have gotten there sooner. That way, at least, he would have been spared the incessant questions from both centurions.

They hadn't stopped bugging him, asking why it had taken so long, clearly suspicious of his "constipation" excuse. He'd tried to sell it, really he had, but they didn't buy it. How would they know about his bowel regularity anyway? Who did they think they were; his mother?

Their questions had persisted even after they'd boarded another bus eastbound. Luckily they had managed to snag a few tickets for Kansas City, Missouri—where Mithras' temple rested in the city's Union Cemetery. While it still meant passing through Denver, at least they had a better route to follow after that.

All seemed well for about an hour into the newest leg of their trip. At least, until Reyna had moved from her seat behind him, joining his row to continue her interrogation. Eventually, Perseus figured it was better to give them what they wanted to hear and told them of what went on between him and Sunflower Hair.

His recounting had—unsurprisingly enough, in truth—been met with a less than stellar reaction. Sure, he hadn't expected stars in their eyes or for them to become his unwavering vassals. A bit of something other than disbelief and back-handed condescension, though, would have been much appreciated. After all, _he'd fought a god_. Not one to be called 'minor' at that. Mithras was very much a worshiped deity in New Rome, having a larger temple than even Neptune on the hill.

"You 'made sure of that', did you?" Reyna hissed, somewhere between mocking and angered with her tone. "Tell me then, what could you possibly have done to guarantee your safety, _hm_?"

"… Erm…" The question caught him slightly off-guard, considering he outright admitted that he was damn lucky to still be alive. Maybe he could bullshit. "Well, you see, as I was in New Rome's library, I came across some interesting information regarding binding oaths. If one should be under a cloud-covered moon, a simple drop of their blood smeared onto a piece of papyrus can seal a very serious promise, powerful enough to chain the gods themselves. Useful stuff if you ever needed reassurances in that kind of situation." He nodded his head, trying to portray wisdom and sage-like experience.

"That's a load of crap," Jason said, popping his head over the top of Reyna's seat. "There aren't any rules like that, otherwise everybody would've heard of them. Even if there _were_ any, they wouldn't be in our library. You'd probably have to go to Olympus to find arcane magic like that, and no doubt have to invoke Hecate to help you."

"Mhm. Why do you care anyway? I'm fine, nothing bad happened"—a very bold lie considering he'd been shot—"and now I have some extra information for the trouble. Plus a little something on the side."

Pulling the notebook from his new jacket, he opened it with a pompous flourish, setting his eyes to the squares. The passing freeway lights helped him read a few snippets here and there, though for the most part his attempt was wasted. Eventually, they'd have to give up and let him relax in peace... right?

A minute passed before Reyna sighed. "So you fight a god for some information and a book of his own personal notes on fighting techniques? Is that even a fair trade? And how can you read that thing? It's all just dots and boxes."

Flipping a page, he hummed contentedly. "In order: yes, kinda, and beats me. The real question is why you're both still making a fuss over it when I clearly came out of the fight just fine. Not to mention I think I got the better deal. It all came down to that initial survival condition, which I managed to pass. See? All good."

"That's not the point," Jason said. "Weren't you the one talking about how we need to keep our heads in the game? I remember you saying something about there being more riding on our mission that any one of our personal desires. Shouldn't you try to practice what you preach, Percy? I think by now it's been proven that we couldn't have made it this far without you."

Those words made him pause. Considering them carefully, he thinned his lips and nodded, not taking his eyes off the book. "It'd be best that I try to set an example for my younger counterparts. This book, though, might help me actually improve myself in combat, which means I could become a better fighter. After all, I don't have any fancy lightning powers or the ability to control weapons, like you guys do. I'm unclaimed. My dad doesn't care enough to drop a hint so that I can maybe use some power. Instead, I have to find other ways to be useful."

Perseus disliked sounding like a whiny child who wasn't given enough attention by his parents. The petulance made his tongue curl as his words and tone turned sour, going back to the tried and true tactic of bringing up his unclaimed status.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed the centurions share a look.

"You shouldn't think of yourself like that. You're more than just a weapon for us to use. We'd have been in trouble without you so far on this quest; which didn't even need your fighting skills. You kept a level head in a bad situation, which is more than Reyna or I could say. I don't think that it's your combat ability that's going to help us get through this quest. If anything, it'll probably be your general demeanor that saves us."

While uninterested in what Jason was trying to do, Perseus listened with feigned curiosity. He'd only downplayed his role to justify himself and to keep team unity high. He certainly was _not_ a sub-par fighter. How dare anyone think otherwise. His fight against Mithras ended as a loss only because gods were inherently more powerful than lesser creatures; _not_ because he was less skilled.

Still, to hear Jason's form of consolation told him something important.

He was gaining trust. The plan he'd put into place was bearing fruit, which he'd eventually pluck once they were back in New Rome.

With a sidelong glance out the window, he reassessed the requests from both Mithras and Pax. Siding with either of the gods had merit, meaning the decision might well be best made from a moral standpoint. Sparing the demigods could ingratiate him to not only Jason and Reyna, but others in Camp Jupiter, spreading his influence further than before. On the other hand, killing them would please Mithras, leading to a possible ally of the divine nature.

Two very different approaches for a difficult situation.

Closing the notebook, he tucked it back into his jacket's pocket. He took a second to think about his response before tentatively rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, you're right. Sorry for going off like that. After reaming you for almost doing the same thing, I guess that makes me a bit of a hypocrite."

Finishing the expression of regret with a self-deprecating chuckle, he waited to see if he'd been convincing. It was a crap-shoot when he tried to evoke guilt on his behalf. That was one of the trickier emotions to pin down and portray in a believable fashion.

"Just… don't go running off on your own like that, okay? We're a team, so we've gotta stick together. It would be tough getting through the quest without the funniest member of our merry band of misfits," Reyna said, giving him a thin smile. "I mean, one of us has a huge hero complex, another can't seem to make their own decisions in certain situations, and the last has a massive chip on his shoulder, all on a mission to help save western civilization. What could possibly go wrong?"

 **[[AaMT]]**

Not much had gone wrong getting to Missouri. The only major problem was that their original bus had gone through some engine problems right before reaching Denver. Luckily, they were scheduled for a change anyway, which meant that they managed to avoid any delays. Since then, the journey had been smooth sailing, which was an especially apt description since they traveled through Kansas, one of the flattest and least interesting states in the country.

If he was honest, Perseus half-expected a group of monsters or another god to interrupt their quest. Fortunately and unfortunately, his pseudo-assumption hadn't actually been right. One part of him was glad to be given a reprieve from the crazy stuff that normally hounded him. Another part was disappointed that he couldn't fight, even though it had only been a day-and-a-half since he challenged Mithras.

He looked around the Kansas City bus station, watching as bodies filtered through the doors. There weren't many people coming and going, which made the lobby feel pretty empty.

The building was typical for its purpose, longer than it was tall with scuffed tile flooring that had seen one too many sets of luggage wheels. A scent of overpowering cleaning chemicals wafted around. He wrinkled his nose and tried not to breathe too much.

Reyna and Jason stood next to him, doing their best not to look lost. It really wasn't working out for them. Bad acting was something that no amount of combat training could fix, he supposed.

Given the situation, though, it was probably for the best to look lost. If he came across as too confident or nonchalant, people might be less recipient toward him. That being given, he'd effectively lose a substantial amount of persuasive rhetoric and close too many methods of subtle implication.

Were his centurions so far ahead of the game that they could see the effects before he could?

' _Doubtful in every sense of the word.'_

Still, their endearing bumbling had actually helped him solidify his own _modus operandi_. So props to them for being unwitting inspiration.

"Wait here," he said, not checking to see if they'd acknowledged his command.

The nearest station personnel was a security officer leaning by the telephone booths. He looked bored, scratching at his beard without enthusiasm.

Perseus made his way over, noticing that something was off. He kept the oddity in the back of his mind, having second thoughts about approaching the officer, but not stopping in his movement.

Once within a few feet, he caught the guard's attention with an uncertain, "Excuse me?"

"Hm?" The older man took notice and faced him. "Oh? Can I help you, young man?" His words came slow and tired, a wilting inflection making it sound like the man was on the verge of falling asleep. He yawned into his hand, long and relaxed in nature.

"Yeah, I was actually wondering if you could tell me how to get to the Union Cemetery from here," Perseus said, pausing for a moment and relaying a bit of timidness to garner sympathy. "My friends and I are new in-"

"Cemetery? Oh, are you planning on taking care of that troublesome group of scavengers in the Unfulfilled Mausoleum? Good, good. I'm glad that my request was finally seen to. It's been too long, and I can't do my duties if those demigods keep hanging around, upsetting the spirits."

 _That_ caught him off his game. He took a few seconds to replay the words through his mind, sifting through whatever nuance rested within them. The word "demigod" was the first thing that came prominently to mind. Clearly, the man wasn't a normal mortal.

Unfulfilled Mausoleum held no meaning to him in a literal sense, although practically speaking the context told him more than he needed. Their destination had an actual name, apparently.

Finally, the reference to a group of scavengers was easily interpreted, since they were probably the "demigods" mentioned previously.

"Who're you supposed to be?" he eventually decided to ask, figuring the blunt approach wouldn't hurt.

"If I had any friends they would probably call me Oneiroi. I was never really named independently, so it's a pretty boring name," the man drawled, scratching at his nose absently. Even though the topic had become somewhat awkward, Oneiroi didn't seem bothered by his lack of friendships. "Either way, I do hope you'll be evicting those ruffians."

Perseus watched the man closer, sliding his toothpick from between his teeth and taking it between two fingers. Before it was a centimeter away from his lips, he found himself stopping from doing anything rash. The name tickled his brain for a moment, making him pause and dissect the word.

 _Dreams._

He hummed in contemplation. With a genial smile, he replaced Impetus in its comfortable spot, chewing on it with light chatters that clinked his teeth against the metal. "Oneiroi, you said? Dreams? You're not Morpheus, are you?"

A soft frown came to the man's features, gentle in its distortion of his brow and mouth. "Morpheus is of my progenitor. He, however, was granted a greater portion of the domain over the Dreamscape. I am but a Personification of Dream. A single Oneiroi. Lower than he, yet more divine than you or your compatriots."

"I see," Perseus commented, giving a nod of understanding. He glanced back toward where Jason and Reyna waited. Their eyes met, and he gestured for them to move outside with a twitch of his head.

They both looked concerned, but followed his direction nonetheless, sending him a nod in return. As they walked away, Reyna tossed him a few taps on her wrist, indicating that she wasn't in the mood to wait for him to waste time through needless exposition.

Or at least, that's what he figured she meant. He couldn't read minds, after all, so what was she expecting from him? Once they'd left, he turned his examination back to the personification in front of him, lifting an eyebrow.

"You mentioned that a group of demigods was upsetting some spirits. I'm not sure how that's my problem if I'm being honest, since I've already got stuff of my own to deal with."

Oneiroi stared at him for some time. His expression had lost the previous sentiment of disgruntlement. Instead, he seemed confused.

"Are you not here to clear them out, then? I've already submitted my inquiry through the proper channels, so I was under the impression that somebody sent you."

"In a sense, somebody did send us. 'Fraid it wasn't to help you fix your vagrant issue, though," Perseus shrugged. A crooked grin crossed his face only moments later. "Unless the problems are one and the same, in which case all I need is to know if this… 'Unfulfilled Mausoleum' also doubles as a temple of Mithras."

"Ah… you know about that? _He's_ sent you, then? I suppose that's all well and good," muttered Oneiroi, running a hand over his dark muttonchops. "If that's the case, I'll call for a cab so you and your friends can keep going."

Perseus held up one of his hands to stop the Dream from taking hold of the phones right next to him. "First, I think I'm entitled to some info, don't you think? After all, I'm helping you out, in a… technical sense. What's so important about the Unfulfilled Mausoleum? Why were you put in charge of it? I'm putting myself at risk for this, so I want to know what I'm getting into, capiche?"

The man pulled at his vest. "You're a precocious one, aren't you? Fine, I'll tell you what you need to know. Just make sure you take care of it. I don't think either of us are ones to take failing our jobs lightly."

 **[[AaMT]]**

Having never visited a cemetery before in his life, Perseus was actually surprised to see lustrous grass growing on the lawns. Trees bloomed with their leaves, filling the air with a sweet smell that screamed of springtime. Wrapping around the perimeter was a black iron fence, rising almost ten feet in height. Similarly tall brick pillars lined the cemetery's boundary as well, used as stability for the fencing. The brick was rich and red, the iron dark and imposing against the verdant backdrop it was set to.

He stood across the street from the cemetery's entrance. Overall, he'd give the maintenance budget an A+ if he could rate it, considering how nice everything looked. Through the fences sturdy bars, he could see gray and white headstones dotting the fields inside.

There was a certain beauty in seeing the morbid reminder of death interspersed with the plant-life that grew all around. It was a contrast that was no doubt very planned, maybe to give grieving families some form of comfort knowing that their loved ones were part of something bigger. Or maybe it was a way to attract the nearly-dead who wanted to be buried somewhere that looked nice. Even in death, people still cared about keeping up appearances.

 _How disingenuous._

Thinking back to the fight against Mithras, he realized how close he came to dying. For a second, he wondered if anybody would mourn his passing. Would anybody remember him? Had he inspired enough fear or hope in people to live on in their memories, in their hearts? Would his name be brought up as the recollection of a man fighting to find his genuine article? Could he ever be looked up to as an inspiration, a beacon of hope? Did he even want that?

Chewing on Impetus, he left the questions to be answered at a later time, preferably when he wasn't about to enter the dungeons.

Beside him, Reyna and Jason shifted on their feet.

"Well this isn't ominous at all," Jason said, staring at the open gates to the cemetery. Even with it being clear outside, the sun beaming down yellow rays of warm light, the area was empty. Nobody walked along the streets, nor did any cars pass them by. A few trees rustled as if to answer his sarcasm.

"So… who wants to go first?" Perseus asked.

The three looked at each other with raised eyebrows and clear discomfort at the thought of making the first move. Eventually, Reyna sighed and took the first step to cross the street. "We're warriors of Rome, for goodness sake. Let's at least try to act like it."

"They say a little piece of happiness leaves every time you sigh, ya know? If the past few days have been any indicator, you'll be an empty husk by the time we're done with this quest."

Reyna shot him a half-hearted glare. "Yeah, and it'll have been you and Jason to suck all that life out of me, _ya know_?"

"I take offense to that," Jason cut in, looking both ways as they moved across the empty lanes of asphalt. "I'm not that bad."

Perseus nodded his head. "Yeah, I also take offense. There's no need to compare me to Blue Jay. That's just cruel."

"True enough. I'd rather not be compared to a delinquent like Percy. I mean, just look at him."

"This is my natural hair color dammit! You know that!"

Jason snickered. "Why'd you immediately think I was talking about your hair? Insecure much?"

"You wily motherfucking cocksu-"

" _We're here_." Reyna interrupted when they'd made it to the entrance, putting a hand on both Perseus' and Jason's chests to stop their forward momentum. She sounded resigned, another sigh being loosed compounded with a shake of her head. "So please… shut up."

Perseus brought Impetus down from his mouth and twirled it around his fingers. He caught Jason pulling out a gold coin from his pocket. His attention turned to Reyna, who hadn't yet made a move to arm herself.

He'd seen her fight plenty of times with a neat sword that could turn into a spear on command, though he hadn't ever watched her equip it. It always seemed like she just had her weapon whenever she needed it. If that were the case, he figured it must have been something to do with her abilities. Being a daughter of Bellona must have its perks.

"So where are we going again?" Jason asked, flipping the coin through the air a few times. "Not all of us got to talk to some random dream spirit at the bus station."

"Right, only the cool ones did, ergo the duty fell to me. Besides, diplomacy isn't exactly the most exciting form of combat. It probably wouldn't interest you that much, which means I have to pick up the slack in that department."

Reyna sighed again— _three in less than a minute, was that a new record?_ —and rubbed her eyes harshly. "There's no helping them. There's no helping them. Just ignore it, just ignore it, just ignore it."

"Better to fight with swords than with words. Subterfuge is so low-class," Jason shot back.

Perseus felt affronted at the insinuation. He cracked a few knuckles, weaving his toothpick around each finger with deft flicks. "A cemetery is a fitting place for this conversation if you don't take that back."

"You feeling lucky?"

"Oh, I'm rolling sixes all day long! The _real_ question is whether or not you've got the guts to take the chance that I'm having an off-day."

"Wha-!? You think the only time I can take you is when you're not on top of your game?"

"That's a better-known fact than the rate of acceleration of falling objects on Earth being 9.8 meters per second squared!"

"I don't even know what you're trying to say but somehow you still manage to irritate me!"

"Google it up, shitlord! It's called gravity!"

For a minute, Perseus actually felt like fighting his centurion, if only to get rid of some frustration. Doing so, however, more or less guaranteed their failure in the quest; if only in the crumbling of what team unity they had built over the course of their travels.

Taking a calming breath, he shook his head and backed off. He hadn't even noticed the distance between them had closed by a few steps.

While he didn't want to step down, he'd swallow his pride to finish the mission.

Besides, the argument was puerile to the core. He might have felt embarrassed had it not riled Jason up. At least he'd gotten something out of it in that manner.

"Alright, in all seriousness, Oneiroi told me that we couldn't miss the mausoleum. I take it that means that it'll probably be the most conspicuous burial site in the graveyard."

"Anything else we should know?" Reyna sounded tired. "Are we just going to wander around until we find something useful?"

He shrugged at her questions. "Guessing we'll have to do just that. I don't think it'll be too bad. The place isn't that big."

Jason hummed and walked through the threshold, passing the gates and continuing along the cement pathway that wound further into the Union Cemetery. With a final flick, the gold coin landed face up in his palm, glowing with a brief flare of power as it morphed into a double-edged Imperial gold sword. He twisted his weapon a few times, taking a few practice swings before turning back to Perseus and Reyna.

"Let's get searching. This place gives me a bad feeling," he said, pointing with his weapon, Ivlivs, further down the stretching path. "We can split up if we get to any forks in the road to cover ground faster. We'll back here in ten minutes and report what we've found, how does that sound?"

Perseus shrugged and saw Reyna mimic his action. "Whatever. Let's just be smart and try not to start any fights we can't win, eh?"

"Surely you can't be serious?" Reyna asked, incredulity dripping from each word. "You're one to talk, after challenging Mithras for no reason."

"I am serious… and don't call me Shirley."

 **[[AaMT]]**

Their foray into the cemetery was a short one. There hadn't even been a need to separate.

"Well… _that_ stands out..." Perseus said.

He stared at the burning pillars that stood sentinel before the small mausoleum. Each of the four obelisks towered over him, reaching a good twenty feet in height. Fire ensconced the normally gray stone, traveling up along the sides to converge at the top of each monolith. With two on either side of the burial chamber, they acted as some form of guide toward the entrance.

A cobblestone walkway diverged from the cemetery's normal pavement, cutting between the stone guardians that filled the air with blistering heat. Occasional jets of fire would smolder bright, bursting up to the sky in a belch of noxious sulfur and smoke. From where he stood, he could see a few long gouges in the stone path leading to the building, deep lacerations left from what seemed to be an extremely sharp object.

"What the Mist can cover will never cease to amaze me," Reyna muttered. "I mean, it's one thing to make our weapons look like common stuff… but to hide _this_ in plain sight? Crazy."

They stared for a few seconds longer.

"Alright, I think that's enough being awestruck." Perseus ushered them along the path, like guiding a couple of puppies from straying too far into the street. He pushed both centurions forward forcefully, glancing down at the sheared cobblestone with wary unease. "Let's get this over with. We aren't exactly doing anybody any favors out here, now are we?"

Before they could protest, he'd shoved them to the front door.

Without the smoldering obelisks in the way, he could distinguish the Greco-Roman influence issued upon the marble structure. Four smooth columns upheld the small overhang. Engraved just above the single metallic door, an ominous warning that seemed to draw the very breath from his lungs and freeze it in place burned with veins of flame in the stone.

"Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate?" Jason read the script, shuddering once he'd finished.

Reyna hesitated. "Abandon… abandon all hope, ye who enter here," she breathed, her voice just above a whisper as the words echoed through the graveyard.

"Pretentious and forbidding both at the same time… not bad," Perseus said. He nodded while holding his chin. "Sounds like something that I'd have above the door to my torture chamber. If… uh… if I ever wanted to get one… for some strange reason."

Deciding to disregard the warning, he grabbed onto the doors long handle, pulling the door to the side with a hefty grunt. He looked inside, expecting to see some form of memorial, ready to search for clues to learn the secrets that the crypt held.

Instead, there was only darkness. For a few feet, he could discern the ground inside the mausoleum. After that, his vision was met with only a velvet black carapace.

Practicing extra care, he took the first few steps forward, eyes snapping around his immediate area. Behind him, he heard Jason and Reyna follow him inside, the sound of their footsteps amplified in the unnatural stillness that cocooned the tomb.

Without warning, the door screeched back into place, noises of grinding steel reverberating throughout the crypt. With a damning boom, the block of light that once came from outside was extinguished, leaving Jason's sword as the sole source of illumination, the Imperial gold emitting a dim glow that was quickly swallowed by the encroaching shadows.

" _Welcome, you chosen few, who have all come to the Unfulfilled Mausoleum. Your arrival has been expected, champions of Olympus."_

The words spoken split the peculiar atmosphere, sounding oddly fuzzy, not unlike an old voice recording. Dread seeped into Perseus' bones at hearing the message.

"It's a trap!" he whispered.

Beside him, Jason muttered out a rare obscenity. Reyna kept her silence, her form completely shrouded in the black gloom. Even Jason's face was barely visible to him, no matter how close Ivlivs was. In fact, as he tried to concentrate on his centurion's features, they seemed to slowly twist and morph, becoming grainy and indistinguishable from his actual appearance.

His mind couldn't decide on what he was seeing.

He turned, struggling against a sudden loss of mobility. Around him, the air condensed into something more voluminous, forcing him to fight for each minute movement. It was like moving through syrup.

" _When we were informed of your approach here, it was a simple enough task to convince the local Oneiroi to cast a few powerful projections upon this place. Jason Grace and Reyna Ramírez-Arellano; you're wanted alive. The last in your group is expendable."_

Indignation swelled in Perseus' chest at hearing that. While he realized the fight between him and Mithras was probably best left to obscurity, the casual dismissal of his person was a blow to his ego.

Already, he could feel the enticing pull of sleep tug his eyelids down. Though he tried to ward off the sensation, it became clear how powerful the compulsion was made to be. As he lost feeling in his body, he made a mental note to kill that Oneiroi if they ever crossed paths again. His pride would have nothing short of full revenge, served in the most appropriate manner possible.

* * *

 **A/N: So there goes Fall quarter, finals being done and all that fun stuff. This chapter took me over fifteen hours to write, which I could've spent doing my term paper or Well Logging porosity and electrical imaging project. But nah son, I had fun writing this one down and taking a break from tears.**


	12. His Youth Tragic Comedy Is Wrong

_**Review Response:**_

 **50shadesofgreyson- Ey, thanks boss!**

 **Disclaimer: I'm almost positive I don't own it. Almost as positive as a cation. Not quite at that level tho.**

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12\. My Youth Tragic Comedy Is Wrong, as per the Usual

* * *

"Allow me to reiterate what you've told me, Pallas."

The king's voice brooked no room for argument, even though Pallas would've liked to call a repetition unnecessary. After all, he was sure that Kronos had heard everything just fine. No doubt, his story had just sounded so far-fetched that the Titan Lord was left with no choice but to feed the words back to him.

Kronos tapped a finger on the arm of his throne. "While waiting for the arrival of those three half-bloods, a presence drenched in blood and the screams of the damned made itself known to you. Once you'd tracked it to the source, you found a being clad in the likeness of an elderly woman. Upon attacking this entity, Ego, you soon discovered that perhaps you'd gotten yourself into a bad position.

"The fight between you two seemed one-sided until you surprised the being with your Titanic Energy. Having delivered incredibly debilitating wounds to your foe, you believed the battle won. Shortly thereafter, Ego stood, apparently unperturbed by the harm that had come to it. Then… it somehow conjured _silver flames_ that obscured its form from you. When it emerged, you were met with some kind of monstrosity the likes of which you'd never seen before.

"With preternatural speed, this abomination catches you off-guard and nearly disembowels you. Instead of killing you, however, this _Ego_ goes on to not only spare your life, but to also relay its message to you. Apparently, all that it wants is Perseus Jackson to survive until _it_ deems otherwise."

The finger that had once been moving slowed substantially, coming to a complete halt after a few seconds. Kronos' gold eyes were narrowed, though the anger in them wasn't directed at Pallas, as far as he could tell.

From where he kneeled, Pallas tilted his head to look at Iapetus.

Nothing on his uncle's face could be discerned as something of concern. A raised eyebrow was the only indication that the Elder Titan had even been listening to the explanation. Had that not been the case, Pallas might have figured that Iapetus hadn't heard a single thing.

A silent tension rose in the throne room, starting moderately oppressive and growing into something so utterly terrifying that Pallas fought the trembling that rattled his mortal coil. Sweat dripped off the tip of his nose and fell to the ground.

It fell.

And fell.

And fell even further.

Finally, it splashed onto the black marble floor, announcing to the entire world that he was shaken beyond composure in the presence of his wrathful king. Around him, the world stilled, holding its collective breath as color bled from his surroundings.

Monochrome panic crashed into his system.

Each intake of air through his nose and mouth filled his lungs with freezing terror.

He felt his muscles jitter in restrained alarm.

"What is the meaning of this, Iapetus?" The voice of the king was storm, contained only by the mightiest of chains. Even then, though, it was impossible to ignore the tempestuous vibrations that gripped Othrys in fingers made of rage.

 _Wild. Powerful. Furious._

"I wish I could say. Unfortunately, I'm as clueless as you in this situation." The response came with unnerving nonchalance. "Perhaps you'd like me to look into it further? Find more information on this… _Ego…_ for us to destroy it?"

"This creature dares to infringe upon our territory. It dares to summon power similar to ours with its unworthy hands. It _dares_ to challenge my _AUTHORITY_! What do you think I want you to do about it!?" Kronos roared, slamming his foot down. Spiderweb cracks splintered across the marble floor, ruining the entire plateau on which the two thrones rested, even reaching down the stairs and closer to where Pallas deferred.

Iapetus frowned, sparing a disdainful glance at the broken stone beneath him, then nodded with a shrug. "Consider it done. I'll be sure to rid the world of such an abomination with prejudice."

"If I may offer another solution?" Pallas felt his mouth move almost on its own accord. He cursed himself for not controlling himself, having garnered the attention of both Elder Titans. Kronos' eyes narrowed, but a disgruntled wave of his hand set Pallas' with more confidence. Considering his next words carefully, he cleared his throat and bowed his head a bit lower. "Perhaps it would be better to capture this monstrosity alive. Hopefully, we can glean information on its origins and how it can use not only abilities eerily similar to Titanic Energy and uncle's silver fire. Additionally, we may discover why it has targeted the boy, Perseus Jackson, specifically. I find it hard to reason that a being the likes of Ego would be interested in a bastard half-blood of no particular importance."

"Then we are wrong to think that this… Jackson character, is not important." A hint of curiosity touched Kronos' tone. He leaned forward in his gilded throne, cupping his chin and shielding his mouth behind tentative fingers. "We may have miscalculated. While it's true that we gathered all that we could on the boy once he'd been placed in the questing group, it wasn't nearly enough to understand him. A mistake. Yes, a mistake on my own part for not looking into the reasoning behind his placement with Grace and Arellano. My daughter… she spoke to him before they left, did she not? A reason. Yes, there must be a reason behind it all."

The king closed his eyes before speaking again. "If we capture the boy, it stands to believe that this abomination will go out of its way to find him, does it not? Yes. That would work. Instead of looking for Ego, we will let it come to us.

"Pallas! While I am… deeply disappointed with your performance, I've seen fit to ignore the failing. I can understand that you didn't want to draw Olympian attention to yourself. In fact, I applaud your decision. This allows us to keep the ambush set in Charleston. Your new directive is to capture all three half-bloods. The boy will act as bait, upon which we can act if the creature opts to free him."

"Don't you think you're acting a bit too much out of fear?" Iapetus asked suddenly, crossing his arms across his chest. "Surely it would be better to simply kill the boy and wait until Ego tries to make good on his promise of death. Apparently, this creature is a vengeful one. It threatened Pallas, didn't it? We can use that instead of taking unnecessary risks."

"No. I'm curious about the boy now. I wish to know what the monstrosity wants with him; why it goes to such lengths to preserve his life. I decree Perseus Jackson as a mortal of interest. That's final."

Iapetus shook his head. "Honestly. It will be much more difficult to capture all three alive if Pallas were to fight them alone. Kill one, thin the herd. The other two will be demoralized at seeing their friend cut down and more prone to mistakes in combat. Much easier that way, if I have a say."

Pallas, while slightly hurt that his uncle didn't think he could handle three demigods, understood that the objection was coming from a place of concern. After all, Koios had been defeated by three half-bloods only a month prior, tossed into the Lethe by that damnable son of Poseidon while trying to retrieve Hades' newly forged symbol of power.

"My decision stands, brother. Enough debating. All it does is… split… u-u-us… ap-p-p-p-p..." the Titan Lord stuttered, an action so uncharacteristic to him as the ruler of all creation that Pallas felt his jaw drop a few inches.

Kronos gripped his head, the scar on the side of his face wrinkling in a pained mask. His gold eyes flickered blue several times. The green fires simmered in their braziers around the room, melting away until only dull emerald embers whispered of warmth.

Time stretched and became an eternity.

Time cracked and snapped down into an infinitesimal speck.

In the vaguest of senses, Pallas was aware that his uncle was telling him to leave. The floor split further, veins of division making elaborate connections across the marble, traveling up the walls and pillars. Without a second thought, he stood and left the throne room with as much dignity that a fleeing Titan could muster.

Even though fear was what dominated most of his mind, Pallas felt eager in knowing that Luke Castellan was fighting Kronos' control.

Such an act of defiance meant one thing alone.

The Titan Lord was regaining his lost glory.

Pallas closed the massive metal doors behind him, moving into the narthex to stand with the statues. Out of all the Elder Titans, only seven of them were dedicated to fighting Olympus.

Mnemosyne and Themis were both traitors.

Koios had lost his memories.

Tethys and Rhea… had long since given up and faded.

Lowering his head, he let a silent prayer pass his lips at the recollection of both fallen Titanides.

Growing up away from Othrys with his father in the south, Pallas still recalled how Krios had occasionally regaled him with stories of Tethys' many adventures and Rhea's quick-witted sarcasm.

He could still see Rhea smiling at him the first time he visited Othrys, inviting him into the atrium to lounge with her. He could still hear her laughing when he first tried to challenge Kronos to a fight, only for the king to spit out the wine he'd been drinking.

He could still smell the salted water that Tethys would use in her performances, juggling massive swaths of liquid through the air to entertain him for hours on end. He could still feel her hand taking hold of his when ominous growls would spook him during their exploration of the caverns beneath Othrys.

Pallas opened his eyes and removed the detachable face guard from his helm, lifting his gaze to meet the likeness of his former queen.

With Kronos' fits growing more potent, the time before his full power returned was no more than a few months.

He licked his lips, feeling foolish for voicing his thoughts to a stone facsimile. Nonetheless, the desire to address her again was overwhelming. "Aunt Rhea. Soon, we'll have avenged our shameful defeat. I know that you'd never fight against your own children, and would mourn their passing, but the time has come for them to be deposed. Under their rule, the world has withered. By the end of the summer, either the Titans will stand sovereign once more… or I'll be joining you in eternity."

 **[[AaMT]]**

Reyna knew what she was seeing couldn't be real.

Even as her father told another joke at the dinner table, she understood how fake it all was.

When she heard both her mother and sister laugh, she could feel bile touch the back of her throat.

She stood, pushing her chair back and sending it rattling to the wood floor. Her legs almost caught the legs of the downed furniture, forcing her to throw the object away with a scream of frustration. The lit candles around her father's home did nothing to stop her from growing cold as concerned eyes fell upon her.

Hylla looked at her, expression so painfully worried that it churned Reyna's stomach.

Bellona's creased face, inundated with anxiety, chilled her blood to freezing.

It was, however, her father's face that repelled the sickness that had been building in her system.

In place of her contained illness, there was anger. A dizzying heat warmed her to the point of boiling, the ire quickly becoming red-hot, expanding and growing into a burning rage so ugly that it diffused through her system, adding a bucket of mucky disgust in with her pooled fury.

His appearance was well-kept, completely different from how she remembered last seeing him.

In truth, he looked much like he had for the first eight years of her life.

A neatly pressed long-sleeve shirt, solid in color as per usual, the top couple of buttons left undone to display his crucifix on a necklace.

Short dark hair, combed to painstaking effort and pushed to the left.

Expensive rings on his fingers, no more than four per hand, mixed gold and silver.

A very sharp watch, simple but stylish all the same; just another reminder of how he loved flaunting what he had.

"Reyna?"

At hearing her name coming from his mouth, a small part of her heart withered and crumbled. The tightness in her chest just wouldn't leave. It wouldn't die.

Her hands curled, knuckles cracking as her hands formed fists.

Through gritted teeth, she made her statement to the world. "This isn't real."

It came as a growl.

"What do you mean, _reinita m_ _í_ _o_? Are you okay?" His voice was convincing. It sounded exactly like him. The falsity even managed to copy his term of endearment. Somehow, whatever sat in front of her looked and sounded _just_ like him.

"Don't you dare!" she snarled, aware that her mother and sister both had vanished. "I don't know what this is… but you aren't my father."

" _Qu_ _é, qué_? _No crees que soy tu papá?_ Are you feeling alright, my little queen? I can make an appointment with the doctor tomorrow. I'll have your sister take you after school, okay?"

Something snapped at hearing that.

She screamed.

The table went flying off to one side, sending plates shattering to the ground, having been flung aside by her own hand. Her eyes locked onto his and she closed the pale distance between them in three steps.

One of her fists lashed out, faster than a whip, colliding with his face.

Her free hand shot to the collar of his shirt, taking hold of it before he could fall out of his chair. Twisting her body, she pulled him out of the seat and threw him away from her.

He fumbled on his feet and pressed his back against the sliding glass door that led to their backyard. Clear shock at being attacked played on his features. His hand came up to the side of his mouth, wiping at some of the blood leaking from his lip.

For a few seconds, neither of them said anything.

She wanted to charge him again. She wanted to ram another fist into his jaw. She wanted to slam his head against the floor. She wanted to see him beg her to stop. She wanted…

"If that's what you want, then do it."

Reyna blinked. Her lips trembled.

"I can see what you want to do to me. It's written all over your face. Truth be told, I can understand that much. So if you want to go through with it, I'll allow you that satisfaction." He took a few steps toward her, his advance laborious and stalking. Only when he rooted himself some inches from her, did his intimidation seem to evaporate like dew in a furnace.

Her eyes widened.

 _Disbelief_.

"Are you kidding me?" she asked.

"I'm serious. Go ahead and-"

"You'll _allow it_? You think… you think that _you're_ still in control!? Do you really think that _I'll_ give _you_ the satisfaction of thinking that you still have any form of _power_!?"

 _Wrath._

"I FUCKING HATE YOU!" Reyna screamed, taking a single step and shoving him as hard as she could.

The glass behind him broke and he was sent sprawling onto the patio. Blood seeped from somewhere beneath his body, drenching the light wood and seeping through the slats. From his position, he groaned and clutched at his side, opening his eyes slowly.

When he removed his hands from his torso, Reyna stared at the massive piece of glass that had somehow found purchase in the left side of his stomach. His hands were slick with red.

 _Not unlike her own._

The color was slowing leaving his face, coinciding with what cascaded out of his gut. He looked pained, if only somewhat. His hair had fallen from its neat array, crowning him in dark bangs and making him seem like more of a wounded animal than he already was.

She loomed over him, her shadow a curtain on his form.

When he looked up, Reyna saw no fear in his dark eyes. There wasn't a hint of anything that promised his impending pleas for mercy. He had no regard for his life. Even as his blood spilled like an open faucet onto the deck, he kept his air of infallible superiority. A few twitches of his face were the only reactions to his situation.

The surreal reversal of roles had her head swimming. There was a certain detachment at seeing him in such a vulnerable position. She'd had dreams along the same lines, though none of them were so visceral in how they felt.

Staring down, she closed her eyes and counted backward from ten.

"And so you have me, like a rabbit in a trap, and you're still hesitating to do what's for the best? When will you grow up? When will you get it through that thick skull of yours that you'll hurt more once you realize that all of the sacrifices I've made were for you and your sister?" His voice was low and full of scorn. "You'll look back and realize that without me, you'd have been nothing! Your mother did _nothing_ for us. I had to create opportunities. I made the money, I made the connections, I nurtured and raised you and Hylla.

"But you… of course… the child bit the hand that fed. You could have been something. You could have gone to college and been a movie star, a lawyer, a doctor, an engineer. The world was your _fucking_ oyster because of _me_! And now look at you. Off on a suicide mission. I pity you. You're a disgrace. A waste of my time. Even now, you can't bring yourself to sacrifice your demons to do the necessary thing. You're a disappointment."

Reyna did her best to keep passive at his comments.

It barely worked, truth be told.

She turned away. "All this verbal abuse and it's clear to me that you want me to kill you. Your goading will only get you so far, though. So instead of giving you that satisfaction, I'm leaving. This entire fake world? It was a good try at trapping me. It won't work, of course, but a good try either way."

Without another word, she left him.

He would bleed out anyway.

 **[[AaMT]]**

Given what he remembered, Jason wasn't amused.

The purple sky tipped him off that something was wrong. It swirled like tainted water. A galaxy full of possibility above him, encroaching upon the reality that kept him on the ground. Dots of all sizes blazed in the living cosmos, the only uniformity to them being their rich sapphire coloration.

Stars, twinkling in distant places. Space dust far from where he stood.

He rubbed his eyes and looked down, mood souring again as he lay witness to an atrocity of his own creation.

The woman claiming to be his mother, Beryl Grace, lay face-down on a thin blanket. The wicker basket filled with picnic food was toppled, sandwiches crushed and potato salad scattered. From her gaping neck, blood poured, slowly saturating the blanket's dyed cerulean and shading it darker.

She had been the first person he'd seen in the strange world.

Jason glanced to the side and saw the girl, Thalia Grace, gaping at the corpse.

They had tried to convince him of something so _despicably_ fake, that when they gave him reason to subdue them, he had barely hesitated in killing the older woman. He hadn't enjoyed it. Not in the slightest. In fact, he felt vaguely sick. Remorse drenched him in a cold bath.

So cold that it hurt.

It was a pain that he wasn't rightfully sure he could describe, though he would mark it as less physical and more emotional.

Even then, his options had been limited. As far as he knew, he wasn't in the real world. What he was experiencing was a dream.

 _Nightmare_.

Why he felt that way could have been attributed to his actions, although there lay a deeper cut in his heart at seeing the two women. They had played him like a fiddle, gotten under his skin well enough, actually making him feel like they somehow _were_ related to him.

Was he losing his touch so much that he'd endanger Rome for two apparitions that claimed the impossible?

Did they really think their cruel lies would turn him against his home? Against the only mother he'd ever known in Lupa? Were they _that_ desperate, so as to play on a thread that didn't even exist?

If that was the case, then far be it from him to malign them their fantasies. They could do as they pleased. It wouldn't matter to him anymore. He'd been given good advice already by an unexpected person. All he needed to do was keep his head in the game, and the game would be his to win.

Rome, Reyna, Percy.

They were counting on him.

 _And he wouldn't fail them._

It took him a moment to recall that there was still one more to be dealt with. Ugly business, that much he could say without hesitance. Killing something so _human_ felt utterly _vile_.

But it had to be done. He couldn't let his teammates carry his weight forever.

Drawing in a sharp breath, Jason turned to the short-haired girl with electric eyes.

 **[[AaMT]]**

From his spot on the beach, Perseus watched the ocean ebb and flow. Small waves would crest and wash to shore, bringing with it white foam and the sounds of lapping water. From the sea, a cool wind whipped at his body, forcing his hands into his pockets.

If he squinted, his eyes could discern some distant shapes in the horizon, a foreground to the azure sky. Given that those same objects seemed to be moving, he figured them to be birds of some kind, flying away or toward the island he was on.

It was too hard to see whether they were coming or going.

Maybe that was for the best.

The island was, for all intents and purposes, a lie.

It was fake.

False.

Untrue.

A hoax, fraud, and forgery.

Following that line of thinking, the birds must have been a sham too. Everything around him was far from reality. He could tell from the moment he opened his eyes and found himself staring at an incredibly unnerving replica of his mother.

Whatever was playing the part did so with utmost care.

The physical image had been a spitting one, impossible to actually claim falsehood toward. It was a recreation so real that if he'd been a lesser person, it would have been entirely too possible for him to be taken by her sudden appearance.

' _Do people just assume I'm inept from the get-go? Don't they realize who they're dealing with? If you're going to trap me in a dream, don't fucking spell it out before doing so.'_

That aside, however, even he had to say that his mother's replica was astoundingly true to life. Appearance aside, she was also versed in his Mom's mannerisms. Those were small things, but if they hadn't been in place, he'd have seen through the charade in no time flat.

He huffed and turned around.

"Something on your mind?"

Perseus was unimpressed by her prodding. "Yeah. I was just wondering how I can get out of here. Out of all the things I had to get stuck inside, it had to be a dream of Margaritaville? Oneiroi, you wound me, using a cheap trick like that."

His mother gave him a funny stare. "Margaritaville? Oneiroi? I'm not sure what you're talking about. Why don't we go inside and have some soup? I think I got the broth down _just_ right this time. You'll love it, I'm sure."

Behind her, the cave in which he'd woken in opened its maw menacingly. The craggy rock that built most of its body would have made him think that inside was inhospitable. That assumption would be wrong, of course, as he already knew well that there were a number of furnishings inside the cave. In fact, those bowels protected by gutted earth were downright cozy.

They even had wi-fi!

Not like it mattered, since they didn't own a computer in the dreamscape.

Wasted opportunities.

"Drop the pretense. I won't fall for it," he said, dismissing the invitation. "You could never be even a fraction of the person she is. There isn't even a point in you trying."

"Honestly." She shook her head, obvious bemusement written across her face. The font must have been Times New Roman, though, since it was so bland. Just another staple of the _real_ Sally Jackson's exasperation. One that the fake had managed to copy. "If you don't want to eat, that's fine too. I'll go ahead and have my delicious food all alone."

"Why should I care? I'm sure that I won't starve in a dream. Oh, unless it's one of those weird dreams where I actually feel things. I guess in that case… I might actually feel like I'm starving. Ain't that some bullshit?"

"So why take the risk?" she gave a crooked grin, something that he'd picked up from his real mother. "Wouldn't it be more prudent to avoid the threat of starvation? Or are you trying to tell me that you don't appreciate the fact that I went out of my way to cook for you? Maybe this is all just an elaborate plan on getting back at me for that meat smoothie I gave you once upon a time."

He scoffed and looked away. "It's slightly annoying when my Mom uses well-planned logic on me in normal circumstances. You using that same tactic, while also taking memories that you have no entitlement to just plain pisses me off. Look, _I'm_ the only one who can think three-dimensionally around these parts, got it? Keep that in mind and maybe I can ignore how each second that you keep that appearance, you mock the woman you impersonate."

"Oh, did I manage to embarrass you with those memories? How fun, I haven't been able to do that since you were in middle school," she clapped her hands together and smiled wide. "Then you got all serious and grew so distant from me. It hurt, actually, to see my baby boy trying to spread his wings so young. I thought that I'd at least have a few more years, but you had other plans."

"I'm done talking about this," Perseus said. "You're stalling for time, hoping that I'll stay here while time passes in the real world. Of course, it's hard to tell just how long a dream can last and what happens while it does. I figure, though, that if you feel the need to actually stall, then that means that time in this particular dream moves faster than outside."

His mother blinked. "You really are precocious, aren't you?"

A tight smile crossed his mouth. "So good to know that after confrontation, you'd just shed your fake skin, Oneiroi."

"No, I'm not Oneiroi. Not in the way that you know him." Her eyes lowered and drifted from place to place, finally stopping on the distant horizon. "I'm about as 'Sally Jackson' as you're willing to believe. I know that I'm _not_ your mother, but at the same time I know that I _am_."

Perseus raised an eyebrow. "I figured as much. Like a weird combination of my memories, right? All coming together through the power of dreams to make something that looks, sounds, and acts exactly like my Mom."

She chuckled softly. "Precocious indeed. But precious all the same. Preciously precocious, maybe? That does have a nice ring to it."

"You do know that I'm planning on killing your master, creator, what-have-you, once I leave this place. I don't like being played."

"I know. You prefer playing, right?"

He shrugged. "It's more fun that way. Control and power go hand in hand."

"Which means absolute control corrupts absolutely."

"Without a doubt. I'm not ashamed to say that I like being in control."

"And that control, in turn, controls you."

"Are you implying I have a problem?"

"Do you not think so? I know everything you know. I _know._ With that in mind, do you think you have a problem? From where I stand, you have a very major problem."

She cocked her head to one side and looked away from the horizon, looking at him with blunt interest. "I mean, you think about me so _often_. Have you realized that? I'm always there, in the forefront of your mind, a silhouette that you can't get rid of. You think of me at the oddest of moments. A song. An argument. A grudging defeat."

"You and your implications. They don't sit well with me, ya know?"

"Oh my. Does that mean you won't have to end up blinding yourself in guilt and shame? Has destiny not wrapped you around its finger?"

"You're sick."

"I'm only as real as you want me to be. Here, in this dream, all my free will is predicated on your own thoughts, feelings, ideas, and manifestations. In truth, I'm an overgrown mirror with a mouth and a fresh coat of paint."

"Fuck you."

"I wonder about that..."

Her response made him frown. Instead of continuing their conversation, he changed topics, eager to move on. "So how do I leave this place? I think it's about time I get back."

His mother hummed in thought, glancing at the sky. "There is no leaving. You're stuck with me, here, on this small island. In fact, this place was chosen for a very specific reason, if the knowledge I've gained from my creator is correct."

"I didn't realize you had a connection to him."

"I was given some instructions during my inception. We don't share a connection, per se, more than I know some things that he knows."

"Interesting. I'll humor you, then. Why was this place chosen for me?"

She smiled with playful coyness, putting a few fingers to her lips. "Well, it's significant in some ways. You have to understand, that dreams can be more than just three-dimensional. They can even force their persuasion into other worlds, dimensions, and ages. Future, past, present. Here, there. All I'm able to say is-"

Before his fake mother could explain, the sky broke.

Under him, the earth groaned and heaved, shaking with aggressive fervor.

Geysers of water exploded from the ocean, sending twisting waterspouts clawing upward some hundred feet.

Perseus watched as pieces of the sky cracked free and plummeted into the sea, leaving behind black spots in the heavens.

"Someone's trying to wake you up? Well, I suppose the plan failed," the forgery said, confused. "Too bad. Good luck on your quest then, Perseus."

She tapped a finger to her chin. "No. That's way too formal. Percy sounds much better for addressing you as my son. Yup. Percy, good luck."

 **[[AaMT]]**

From his position behind Jason, Perseus ran his fingertips along the smooth stone wall. Reyna led their trio down the spiraling staircase, a torch in her hand to light the way during their descent. Given how long they'd already walked, it was a wonder that they hadn't already reached the bottom. Where were they even going? Tartarus?

' _Yeah right. As if I'd ever willingly go down into that hellhole.'_

The air was dank and cool. Refreshing, even. He was thankful that even though they were going down, it wasn't growing warmer. There wasn't a hint of claustrophobic anxiety, which he supposed was more attributed to his own state of mind rather than the environment. Of course, he wouldn't say that the surrounding area was a nice place. More that it gave no sense of dread. Nothing to fear. Only stone.

Perseus looked at Jason and Reyna as they navigated the stone steps, careful in their movements.

They had been the ones to shake him from his dream, unaware that he was close to getting some information that he was actually interested in. He wouldn't begrudge them for it, though he wondered how they managed to get out of their own respective traps.

None of them had gone into specifics regarding their dreams. It was clear that both Reyna and Jason were off-kilter. That much was crystal. Clear like manufactured diamond.

There had been some sort of unspoken agreement to relegate their tribulations. To keep it to themselves, more than likely because each dream was too personal. Sharing something so deep didn't appeal to any one of them. Perseus, himself, wouldn't have been comfortable talking about what he'd been confronted with.

As such, once his wits were about him and the tiredness had left his system, they had set off. The darkness hadn't been nearly as impeding as before, somehow having lifted so that they could barely see. The torch had been already lit in the next room they'd found.

The crypt had been linear for the most part, giving them one direction to travel, which at least took the weight off their shoulders in making decisions. Small blessings in tough situations could go a long way.

Idle wondering brought him to the question of how long he'd been out of commission. The door that led outside wouldn't budge for them when they tried it, which left no choice but to progress into the bowels of Mithras' temple.

With his mind wandering, Perseus hardly noticed the slight dip in the otherwise smooth stone wall. He paused, almost falling down the stairs when he stopped moving. Frowning, he ran his fingertips along the line, following its signature for several inches.

"Reyna, wait."

His call was answered when she turned around. In the torchlight, her dark eyes seemed wary and tired. Sweat glistened on her forehead and around her nose. She'd definitely seen better days.

"What is it?" she asked, watching him closely.

He motioned to the curving stone. "Can you bring the torch closer? I wanna check something."

Jason moved to let Reyna pass. When she reached where he stood, she handed him the entire torch.

He took it with a cocked eyebrow. Whatever her reasoning, she didn't say. Instead, she kept looking at him, her eyes occasionally flickering to her surroundings with worry.

Turning his attention to the wall, he brought the light up.

Three long streaks in the stone. Gouges in the wall. Sheared rock. Cut deep.

Just like outside.

Just like on the derelict cruise liner.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Frigid air cooled his frayed nerves, filling him with fake confidence in the face of terror. In the face of fear. In the face of stress. In the face of his own doubt.

The lines didn't have to be new, fresh. They could've been there for hundreds of years for all he knew. They could've been made by some drunk soldier swinging around his sword. The could've been put there as decoration. There were tons of reasons that they could have existed where they did, how they did. There wasn't a point in drawing conclusions from their presence alone.

"You okay?" Jason's hand came down on his shoulder, blue eyes clouded by some twisted emotion.

Perseus handed the torch back to Reyna, who took it cautiously.

"Fine. Let's keep going. None of us wants to stay here longer than we need to."

 **[[AaMT]]**

Blood.

Too much blood, splattered in haphazard patterns on the floors, ceiling, walls, tables, statues, arches, tables, weapons, bodies. Small puddles of it formed where the floor must have been uneven, leaving the scent of metal, iron, pain lingering in the air. And oh how that same air which once gave his lungs relief now pulled nothing but sheer horror into his chest, spreading it around like poison coursing in his veins. With each beat of his heart, sheer fear sheared his erratic breathing to breaking each breath.

Perseus felt his own blood. It raced through his limbs, bringing arctic chills to his fingers, jolting lightning down his spine, pumping acid into his throat. He suddenly felt that he'd been given too much blood. So much that it was screaming to rip free of his arteries and join the puddles on the floor.

Bile rose too quickly for him to stop. It burned as it came up, forcing him to turn away and wretch at the entrance to the shrine. His nose and eyes burned at feeling his breakfast leave him, spilling onto the floor.

Next to him, he was aware that Reyna had joined along, palms planted on her knees, spittle dribbling from her bottom lip. The sweat which had up until then played on her face now joined the vomit. She was haggard, her eyes closed shut, squeezed hard as if trying to deny having ever seen anything at all— past, present, and future alike.

He pushed himself away from the door, spitting out what remained in his mouth, hoping that it would feel clean again. Of course, clean wasn't in the dictionary. How could it be? Clean didn't exist in that room. Nothing was clean. It was fake. A word without meaning. Fake. Just like the dream.

His eyes wandered. Much like his thoughts earlier, they occupied themselves with everything but the task at hand. Streaking across the room, he wouldn't have been surprised if they looked like laser pointers, the way they danced, never stopping to stare.

Still, through his own self-deception, there was only so much room. Given the natural state of the macroscopic level, he'd have to pass over the same scene multiple times. He couldn't avoid it forever. There was no running, the more he thought about it. Not for the corpses, not for him, and not for his companions. As far as they knew, the door was firmly sealed. There was no hope. No escape from hell.

From where he stood, the room's story was made clear to him. Clear like a bubbling creek; where water could tumble over rocks and sediment, but always remain clustered in its generally fluid shape. And just like that same creek, the water was clear, true, but the underlying obstructions were given odd forms due to refracted light.

It was both easy to tell what happened, while also being difficult.

Bodies—what remained of bodies, rather—mostly rested on the floor.

A few limbs were pinned to the walls and ceiling by various weapons and appliances, drying blood trailing down the stone.

Pinkish clumps of tissue lay strewn all around. Pounds of flesh, ruined organs, detached extremities. Intestines were common among the muck, lining the ground, some portions having been flattened underfoot while others remained plump and thick.

Light bulbs around the room were covered in blood, giving the area a sheen of orange-red that only furthered the detestable atmosphere. Those that weren't painted often flickered for some reason, as if there was faulty wiring or some other electrical problem.

For the most part, Perseus was reminded of _Harbored Gift_ and how those onboard had been killed. The word for it couldn't have been anything but vile. It was aggressive, angry, unnecessarily violent. What was the reason behind the attack? Was there a reason? Was there justification for slaughter like he was seeing?

Somebody tapped his shoulder lightly, almost making him jump at the sudden contact. He turned to find Jason pointing at the far end of the room, where a shrine of stone lay ensconced in a small alcove.

Candles burned around the nook, inside of which there stood a metal statue of who he assumed was Mithras, one foot planted on the back of an ox or some other bovine animal. In one of his hands, he held a dagger. The other was grasping a chalice, raised as if gloating in his victory over the creature beneath him.

On the left side of the shrine, a thick trail of smeared blood led through a wood door, left ajar by whatever had last passed through it.

Perseus focused on the door, ignoring the room around him, having grown sick at seeing everything else. He figured that he wasn't going to like what he found beyond the threshold but morbid curiosity demanded his attention be directed to finding answers.

He stepped lightly, walking to the shrine. The floor was slippery and littered with obstacles both small and large; a combination of organic and artificial, meat and metal. Even through the uneasy wrenching of his stomach, Perseus made sure not to let himself tremble.

Fear was a natural reaction, he had to remind himself. Whoever could stare at the scene around him and scoff at it…? They'd lost a few marbles, that much he assured himself of. He, on the other hand, still held self-preservation in high regard.

Once at the door, he spared a glance at Jason, whose face was twisted into something almost indecipherable. There was too much to read. A jumbled mess.

As he sought to analyze his centurion's countenance, Perseus heard a soft sniffle coming from behind the door. Low mutterings followed, a soft shushing sound steeped in desperation and despair. A choked sob came after, some kind of reiteration of the first noise, once again met by the calming reprimands of hushed terror.

With his foot, he edged the door open.

Inside, he found a group of five, huddled close together near a rack of weapons. All of them were bloodied and battered, eyes wild at seeing his entering form. Out of the group, two seemed around his age, two were probably only a few years younger, and the last was closer to a pre-teen than anything else.

One of the older ones, a boy with soft facial features and cool amber eyes, stood up and took a step forward. He grimaced, bringing a hand to hold some blood-soaked bandages wrapped around his midsection. His warm brown hair was matted and his expression wavered between confidence and fear.

"Centurion," he greeted, managing to incline his head in greeting. "Somebody must have sent you if you managed to find us in a place like this. Is it too much to ask that you turn around and pretend you never saw us?"

From behind him, a girl sighed. "Noel, wait. Let me talk to Jason."

The boy, Noel, turned and shook his head. "No. You need to rest. You did enough for us already… just… just let me help, okay?"

"Noel, please. I know Jason better than you do. Besides, Naomi needs you. I can work something out, I promise."

Jason stepped by Perseus, pulling him back with a gentle tug on the shoulder.

"Vicky. It's been a while." The tone of his voice was off. He was shaken. "You've been gone this whole time, huh? With the Titans."

Stepping out from the shadows, a sickly-seeming young woman entered under enough light for Perseus to discern. She was tall, probably a good inch or two taller than he was. Apart from her height, she was an average looking girl, with long brown hair and a figure neither very slender nor overly large. Dark circles under her eyes and a generally haunted visage told him that she'd been having trouble sleeping. Sweaty, matted in blood, and tired, she still managed to impress Perseus by the way she leveled her stare at Jason.

The only other noteworthy aspect of her appearance was the lack of her right arm. White medical dressing adhered to what remained of her limb, which consisted of everything above her bicep.

She moved further into the corner of the room, out of earshot from the rest of her friends.

Vicky gave a rueful chuckle, sounding so forced that it actually grated. "Where else would I have been? Aruba? I wish that were the case. Unfortunately, as you can see, I wasn't smart enough to book a trip. So, why are you here?"

"I think you know."

Her smile wavered. "The only reason you'd be this far away from camp is questing. Is that it? Did you get a quest or something?"

"Something."

"Mhm. So who sent you?"

Jason fiddled with his coin, having stowed Ivlivs for the conversation. "Mithras. He asked us to..."

It only took a second for her to pick apart the meaning from the sentence's awkward trailing. Her face twisted with fear, soon changing to resignation. She sighed, her jaw tightening and the muscles in her neck pronouncing themselves.

Her eyes glanced back to the group of four before flicking back to the centurion. "Is there any way I can persuade you otherwise? I… I… I'll accept whatever punishment that needs to happen. It was my plan, my words, my actions that misled the others. They don't deserve this. They never did. And now… after everything… with so many dead... dead because they... because of me."

Sobs slowly shook her shoulders. Tears soon followed, streaking down her face as her mouth trembled. Her left hand came up, palm flattened on her forehead as she pushed her bangs up.

"Vicky, what happened here?" Jason asked softly.

"M-monster. It was a monster! It came two nights ago. Fast… impossible to hit it. Gods. Oh gods. It could bend and twist like a snake. It _ate_ some of them! Those claws. Armor didn't even stand a chance against those! It just cut through us. We tried… tried to kill it. But we couldn't. We couldn't even _touch_ it. I've never seen anything like it before. And the voice. It laughed at us! _Laughed_ when we attacked. _Laughed_ when we were torn apart. _O_ _h gods…_ _gods._ It ate my arm. It's chest opened… and it _ate my arm_."

Perseus closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face. The description forced him to connect those dots he'd been presented with. It wasn't difficult. Not really. When he looked at the picture from a distance, it wasn't hard to see what he was meant to see, painted in blood. The image was an amalgamation of what he knew about _Harbored Gift_ and what he'd just heard and seen.

An amalgamation born of the Earth, meant to oppose him at almost every turn. A patchwork horror meant to haunt him. A bane meant to be his equal, if not his superior.

"What will you do now?" Vicky asked, having taken time to compose herself the best she could. Terror etched itself into her features. From her face to her clenched hand, none of it belied the reaction she'd had to remembering what happened to her. "We're traitors… death really seems like the only punishment for dereliction of duty during times of war."

Perseus looked at his centurion, expecting to find hesitation.

Instead, Jason's shoulder's were squared, a stone masquerade chiseled as his mask. "We're taking you home. You're going home, Vicky. You're all going home."

The son of Jupiter turned his head to Perseus. A warning flashed through blue eyes. "Right, Percy?"

"Sure. They've been through enough. Honestly, them having to relive those memories… it might be more merciful to actually kill them. Still, I don't have the stomach to do it after everything. Too much blood in this place already. I just wanna get out."

Normally, he might've put up a fight. He could argue that they could spare only Noel and Naomi. Kill the rest and hopefully play both Pax and Mithras, getting the best of both worlds. That way, two gods might be indebted to them, which would only increase their odds of survival in the future.

That said, he wanted more information from the traumatized group on what they'd seen and fought against. He needed to know more. If he was going to live through something like that, he couldn't go into a battle blind. Anything they could tell him would probably be worth its weight in gold when the time finally came to confront the abomination.

Besides, having a respected goddess in his pocket was pretty decent for not actually having done anything.

As Jason went to talk to the other demigods, Perseus made his approach known by clearing his throat, not wanting to startle Vicky in her state.

She glanced his way, wary in the wake of his small smile. He wondered if she could see that his gesture was completely insincere or if it was just her prerogative to be cautious. Whatever the case, she broke the silence before he was given a chance.

"Thank you."

Perseus waved away the gratitude casually. "No prob. I'm tired of seeing blood today. Can you tell me one thing, though? I know that reliving the attack is hard but I just want to ask one tiny little thing."

The girl nodded tiredly. "Shoot."

"You didn't, by chance, manage to get this monster's name, did you?"

She shuddered and rubbed the shoulder of her injured arm. "Yeah. Id. When it was tearing through us. As it was laughing at our 'pathetic effort', the monster called itself Id. Never heard of it before. Gods, the world is just so black."

Neither had he. His bane was Apollyon, named by Gaea herself immediately following its creation.

"Thanks. Sorry for bringing it up so fresh," he said, switching the smile from disarming to sympathetic. "We'll get you back to camp. I'll make sure of it."

* * *

 **A/N: Today's chapter was brought to you by the letter B.**

 **For bourbon. Too much bourbon. Sorry for typos if you find any, I edited this I swear!**

 **The style was brought to you by me wanting to experiment with symbolism and scene beats.**

 **Oh, and Happy Holidays to everybody out there! I wanted to get this out on Saturday but ended up adding few new paragraphs over the weekend, then taking an entire scene out of play entirely and replacing it with something else. So yeah, its here now. Um, hope you enjoyed it?**


	13. The Final Hurdle Appears to be

_**Review Response-**_

 **xSkiesOfBlue11: Of course. Just par for the course.**

 **Jet: For the purposes of the story, Apollyon remains ungendered. An abomination, as I wanted to make. I like the idea though, it'd make for some fun scenarios in the future. Thanks for your thoughts on the pacing, since I know it varies for a lot of people.**

 **Max: The past few chapters have definitely been very fun to write, this new one included. Thanks for the review, and it's great to hear that you're liking the story so far!**

 **Malosi06: Ah, so you caught on to how I changed Apollyon's name! Yeah, since there are three different sections to Freud's theory on the psyche, the bane's got three names apart from what it was given. It's not quite as you hypothesized, though. Worry not, it'll be revealed eventually! Thanks for your feedback and Happy New Year to you too!**

 **Guest: I couldn't help myself with that one. It was just ripe for the taking given the chapter contents. Glad you liked the chapter!**

 **Disclaimer: Don't be ownin' the source. Too far out of reach.**

* * *

13\. The Final Hurdle Appears to be a Mountain

* * *

Leaving the mausoleum's interior was probably the highlight of Perseus' day.

"Thank goodness for escape tunnels," he groaned, shielding his eyes from the sun. Never before had it seemed to shine so bright nor warm his skin to _just_ the right degree. He took a deep breath, relishing in the freedom that whisked around him. The sky was clear and blue and wide, giving him the sense that it stretched forever, far further than his eye could ever see.

Although they were still inside the graveyard, the exit for the escape tunnel was a good distance away from the mausoleum, hidden under a large storm drain grate near the cemetery's back end.

Letting go of a content sigh, he pushed his hair away from his eyes and turned around. He saw the surviving demigod traitors still close together, as they had been the entire ascension from their personal hell. They hadn't let loose a single syllable on the way up, which didn't surprise him when he considered their tribulations up until they'd been saved.

And yes, he would certainly argue that they'd been saved. After all, it was—in the very, _very_ barest of senses—his own mercy that allowed them the luxury of survival. True enough, both Jason and Reyna seemed inclined to keep them alive, but when it came down to it, Perseus was the one with the high oratory skill. Just like in video games, he'd spent a lot of time and effort to improve his persuasive speech.

Too many points went into his charisma skill for him to waste! He'd be damned if he let other people get their way over him. It just wasn't kosher.

If he'd felt the necessity, he might have tried to convince Jason that the traitors needed to die. Logical fallacies aside, he could easily appeal to the empathy and sympathy that his centurion seemed to carry in abundance. A few suggestions that Mithras could be angry enough to hinder the quest, a subtle implication that the turncoats' mental stability would always be suspect, some sprinkled appeal to killing them out of the mercy born of sparing them the horrid survivors guilt and nightmares; those would all go a long way in twisting compassion, turning it into a tool used for murder.

Drawbacks would include: Pax being supremely pissed, Jason's own mental health deteriorating, and losing out on information regarding Apollyon.

In truth, only the last one really concerned him, which he acknowledged made him a moral dirtbag.

On the other hand, cynicism was necessary. It was part of the human experience. Actually, he considered it to be one of the defining aspects of any successful individual. Cynicism and pragmatism, both of which were typically amoral in practice. He supposed that it wasn't really him being cynical, in that case. More that he was practicing selfishness. Therefore, he was the reason people were cynical, the cause of their loss of faith in idealistic ventures.

So instead of using his emphatic persuasion on Jason, he'd chosen to reassure the traitors that he wouldn't let any more harm come to them. It wasn't true, of course, since he didn't care about them apart from the benefits they presented him. If it came down to it, he wouldn't risk his own safety to ensure theirs. What a ridiculous notion! All the words were meant to do was build a form of trust within their emotionally crumbling psyches. That course of action might well prove to ingratiate himself to them in the future.

In short, on a fundamental level, he was a liar.

A fake.

He wasn't the real deal. Genuine wasn't a word that could easily be assigned to him. Expressing genuine sentiment toward other people was difficult.

More pawns—or allies, however he chose to view them—wouldn't hurt at that stage in the game, though. It was still set-up time. He doubted Gaea had made her first _real_ move. If she had, it was with Apollyon. The thought alone made him shiver.

That all aside, Perseus felt no particular urge to guide Jason's decision. Saving the demigods was fine in his opinion, especially since it gave him some goodwill with a goddess and his own teammates. Given what he knew of Vesta— _Hestia_ —whatever she wanted to be called at whatever moment in time, he was sure that when she learned about how magnanimous he'd acted, she'd also be quite impressed.

When word got out about how he'd defied the adopted god of war, maybe the godly parents of the other two half-bloods would be grateful as well. Too bad that Nemesis was siding with the Titans, otherwise that would've made one more god added to his count.

A great flash of light and the sound of buzzing was all the warning that anybody got before Pax stepped out from behind a tree. She looked exactly the same since he'd last seen her in the restaurant, even carrying that leafy stick in her arms, cradling it like one would a defenseless baby.

Noel stepped forward and took Naomi's hand. The two looked at their mother, neither party making any move. A good distance separated them, covered by grass and split by the cemetery's paved pathway.

Then, there wasn't anything keeping them apart.

Pax hugged her children, her lips touching the crowns of their heads a few times each.

Naomi was sobbing, clutching at her mother's arm, tears pouring onto the goddess' shoulder. Her body shook, cries of either relief or the built-up terror piercing the muted surroundings. If it hadn't been obvious before, the display only served to show how much baggage the girl carried.

Noel wasn't crying like his sister, although tears still fell from his own eyes. He was trying to be strong in the presence of other people, especially his mother. It was an odd phenomenon, to be more reserved about crying when facing a parent. Proving that the elder no longer had to worry about the child. It might have been considered responsible.

Perseus didn't know if he were honest.

From the sidelines where he was, it was hard to see Pax's face now that it was buried between her children's heads. Given the way she was clutching them—as if they could up and vanish at any moment—he guessed that she was doing her best to keep composed. For their sake, and for the sake of her divine pride, no doubt.

He waited patiently, unconcerned when the long seconds drifted to minutes. Instead, he took the time to bring out his newly gifted notebook, continuing from where he'd last left off.

It was clear that the journal had never been intended to be used as a textbook. The author wasn't actually talking through the book to an audience. Rather, it was more of a personal place to jot down musings on certain aspects of whatever caught his fancy. More often than not, long ramblings would take up entire paragraphs, caught up in the smallest of details that confused or irritated the writer.

Of course, it also helped to say that the author had written the entire thing in first-person.

Well, referring to the author in such vague terms wasn't necessary anymore. Perseus was certain that the journal had been penned by his father. No need to guess about that. The very next chapter after Titanic Energy was written about "the ability to wound what could be wounded in concept".

In other words, the chapter was dedicated to what Perseus called _rending_. When the author had claimed to seemingly be the only person in existence to wield such a power, the dots connected themselves faster than he could say "don't drop down that dark disco door damaging the dowry of delinquent docile daisies" three times fast.

From that point onward, he wondered what his father was trying to prove. If Mithras worked closely with Iapetus, then why did they fight? Why give him the notebook at all? Why then of all times? Why begin interfering in his life after seventeen years of nothing?

Questions upon questions. Answers left unanswered.

Well, whatever the case may be, he was under the impression that maybe he was fine with receiving aid from afar. It wasn't as if he needed Iapetus to be there with him. As long as he had his Mom, things would be fine the way they were.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the family separating. Pax held her children at arm's length for a moment, rubbing their cheeks softly, a fond smile full of joy plastered on her face. She gave them another kiss, then stood and made her way to where he, Jason, and Reyna were gathered.

Before his very eyes, the goddess of peace bowed.

It wasn't only her head either. Everything from her waist up fell, almost going a full ninety degrees but stopping just short of completely subservient.

"Thank you," she said. "Thank you for doing this. Upon my honor and my own respect for you three, you have my gratitude. I will endeavor to one day repay your kindness, mercy, and goodwill back to you, as is my duty befitting my station."

Pax rose and lifted the stick in her hand above their heads. "With this olive branch, the symbol of my power, may you be blessed. I grant you all my godsend and favor. Let the rest of your journey be dictated by peace and victory over hatred. Let those who despise you and bring war upon you suffer my wrath. Let yourselves be victorious in this world wrought by violence."

A shimmer flowed from the olive branch—he really should have known that's what it was—and fell on them.

Tranquility soothed his mind and body, giving him content in the face of finishing the quest.

"Thank you, Lady Pax," Jason lowered his head slightly.

Reyna mirrored his actions and words.

Perseus gave her a quick once-over. "Thanks, I guess."

That earned him an elbow to the ribs by both his centurions.

"Agh! The fuck's your problem, I said my piece, didn't I?" he hissed, rubbing his sides gingerly. They had put too much strength behind those jabs for it to be playful or lighthearted. Were they actually angry with him? He didn't care, but if that were the case, they needed to lighten up.

Pax turned her eyes to him, appraising him with the hints of a smile tugging at her lips. "I believe an apology is in order, Perseus Jackson."

"Surely you can't be serious! I already said thanks!"

"I am serious. And don't call me Shirley."

His eyebrows shot to his hairline. "Airplane, 1980. I'm surprised. I _just_ used that joke."

The goddess shrugged. "You mortals make good entertainment. I'm prone to indulging in your various forms of media. Sometimes I wonder if I might have gone a bit too far, though."

Perseus lifted a hand to his heart and dropped to kneel. "A goddess after my own heart. Are you, by chance, wanting to pass some time watching 80's and 90's action movies starring Arnold Schwarzenegger with me in the near future? I feel that it's been too long since I last did a movie marathon, and sharing it with somebody like _you_ would make it about ten times better."

She looked at him for a while, her expression difficult to decipher aside from the amusement that touched her smile. "I was actually offering my own apology to you before. I seriously misjudged your character. I saw nothing but death in you. Violence and bloodshed and tragedy. All brought by your own hand. That said, it looks like I thought the worst of you. For that, I'm sorry.

"We'll have to see about that movie marathon, Doctor Mister Undersecretary Jackson Junior. I'm a busy woman, after all, managing my domain to make sure that Mars and Mithras don't up and start the next world war on accident or on purpose. My children told me, though, of your willingness to help them. I suppose, to show appreciation, I might take you up on that offer."

"Mom!" Noel shouted, sounding more than a little mortified.

"Percy!" Jason seemed equally abashed. The centurion pulled him to his feet to deliver a harsh whisper. "Don't flirt with the goddess who just blessed us!"

"She seemed fine with it," he grinned, flicking his eyes back to where Pax was teasing her son for his discomfort. "Besides, it's just a bit of harmless fun. I haven't actually played _this_ particular game in a long time. I forgot how much I liked it."

After all, flirting was similar to manipulation, to some extent. It was a good way to practice implication without being overly obvious about the intent. The better one became at it, the better they became at detecting subtlety. Speaking freely of his own talent, Perseus liked to assume that he was above adequate in those regards when he wanted to be.

It also didn't hurt that he was able to occupy his mind with other things that didn't involve blood, doom, and gloom. The entire quest had felt like one long drag. If the opportunity presented itself for him to loosen up and have some fun, then he'd damn well take it; all especially true since Pax was very attractive.

"Harmless fun?" Reyna repeated, her voice incredulous. "Percy, _you're flirting with a goddess_. That in and of itself is already dangerous. That's like playing with fire—no, it's worse than that. It's like going into the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus and drawing a mustache on the statue of Lord Jupiter. You're just _begging_ to be burned."

She paused and looked him up and down. Her face twisted with apprehension. "Wait, you aren't actually a closet masochist, are you?"

"Do you mind not making assumptions with literally no evidence," Perseus drawled, unimpressed by her conclusion. "All I did was invite her to watch some movies with me. Some awesome action movies starring the Governator himself. What's wrong with that?"

"So many things," Jason sighed. "It is odd that Lady Pax went along with it, though. She must be in a really good mood."

"I bet I can improve that mood."

"Shut up, Percy."

"Kidding, kidding. I have no experience in that regard. Wouldn't mind learning from someone like her, though."

Before their conversation could continue down the inevitable path that led to them arguing, Pax clapped her hands.

"Alright, I think it's time for you three to finish the last leg of your quest, wouldn't you agree?" she said, smiling brightly at them. Her hand fished a set of keys from her pocket, holding them up to eye level. "There's a car just outside the cemetery. That's your ride to Charleston. Inside, there are some more supplies for you. Ambrosia, extra money, some food, and the like."

Perseus was somewhat astonished. "Dues ex machina much? This sort of convenience seriously shouldn't be possible! Is this the matrix? Is this the real world or is this just fantasy? Will this quest be getting a movie adaptation without my knowledge!?"

Pax chuckled and tossed him the keys. "Don't go breaking your head trying to think extra-dimensionally now. Good luck brother, Reyna, and Percy. I look forward to seeing you all come home, heroes of the highest degree."

 **[[AaMT]]**

"He failed to do as I asked," Mithras noted, leaning against the black marble wall. He crossed his arms and sighed, shaking his head, amused at the defiance. "How disappointing. And even after I went through all that trouble of delivering your little diary. You couldn't have left him a note in there telling to finish my request?"

Iapetus stopped walking, having just come from the throne room. The Elder Titan gave him a passive stare, those steel-like eyes piercing through everything they came in contact with. Even Mithras had to admit that they unsettled him, especially when there was nothing behind them signaling investment in the interaction.

In other words, the Titan's eyes disgruntled him all the time.

"That's not really my concern."

With that, he kept walking, leaving the narthex and turning left down one of Othrys' many hallways. The fortress of the Titans was a maze in many respects, one which Mithras found himself lost in more times than he'd admit. It was annoying, really, being able to wander the corridors, halls, gathering rooms, and whatnot for hours and still feel completely disoriented.

The god moved to match Iapetus' strides, catching up a few seconds later. "True, it isn't but I figured you'd be more frustrated by his compassion."

"You didn't come to me straight after the fight," Iapetus said, switching topics with no tact.

Really, his associate could be too brusque sometimes, Mithras pondered. "Also true. I was busy stirring some things up between the Palestinians and the Israelites, though. Hezbollah might be getting busier in the coming months too, so keep your eye on the Middle East. Oh, and can't forget tensions along the Korean DMZ."

"I don't care about your extra-curricular activities, Mithras. Tell me what I want to know," Iapetus said, stopping in the center of the hall and turning to face him.

"Fine. Your kid's good, for a mortal. Nowhere near your level, not too close to mine for me to feel self-conscious. I'll be upfront with you. Since he's a demigod, he'll probably never reach the level to straight on fight a deity in their divine form." He paused and rubbed his chin. "That all said, he's got a lot of things going for him. First is that Titanic Energy. Dangerous stuff. Too much utility in one ability. Then there's that wounding thing you can do. Scary, scary stuff. This scar is permanent. Add to that when he learns to use your silver fire and how to heal… he's a figurative swiss army knife in human form."

Iapetus nodded slowly, contemplative in his actions. There was a lull between them, the conversation having tapered to its death.

For his part, Mithras wondered why Iapetus seemed so interested in his only mortal son. Over the years that he'd known the Elder Titan, he'd never rightfully seen any concern on that particular subject before a few months ago. It had only been then that Iapetus had cared enough to even speak about the boy.

Strange tidings indeed.

"If what you say is all accurate, then I've no reason to worry about his progression. He has a strong sense of drive toward self-improvement I noticed. The journal will more than likely be enough. How did the fight end?" Iapetus asked.

"Why don't you just go talk to the kid? Your kid. What's the point of you hiding in the shadows now? It's clear that the Titans are back, so keeping yourself under wraps doesn't matter. I can't see the point." Mithras chose to dodge the question by redirecting attention.

"You failed to account for just how many eyes are on my son at the moment. Lupa and Hestia might be willing to overlook what he is but the same can't be said for others. Additionally, if any of my ilk find me interacting with him, they'd grow suspicious. He's far safer on his own than with me by his side," the Titan said, glancing at the ceiling. "Now answer the question."

Coughing into his gloved hand, he gave a passive, "I shot him. Thought he would dodge but he was too tired."

The titan blinked.

Before Mithras could do the same a sword was already piercing through his chest. It buried itself up to the hilt, which pushed him back and pinned him to one of the black columns. Pain screamed through his body, burning at his very being and eating at what he figured was the anchor to existence.

He'd felt similar pain in lesser quantity and intensity a couple of days prior, but that hadn't been nearly as wrenching as what Iapetus inflicted.

When had the Titan even moved? Sure, the sword that hung on the red leather belt was close to reach, but how in the world was it even physically possible to draw and lunge in that amount of time? There should definitely have been rules against doing something so inane.

As darkness pulsed near the edges of his vision, the sword was yanked free of his body.

He fell to his knees, hands coming up to the injury so that he could heal it faster. Ichor ran through his fingers like a stream, languidly tapering into a dribble as he doubled his efforts. He was glad to see the gold, in truth. It could have been much worse had Iapetus wanted to deal more serious damage. So much worse.

"I gave you parameters. Curb your bloodlust, Mithras. One day, it'll get you killed without so much as a fight to give you a sense of catharsis."

With that warning, the Titan of Mortality and Violent Death walked away.

Mithras rubbed his mostly healed chest, moving to sit down with his back against a wall. He leaned his head back and sighed.

"How high was I when I thought fighting against _that_ monster was a good idea?"

 **[[AaMT]]**

Perseus counted it as a blessing that he'd pressed his Mom into finding the money for drivers ed classes. It wasn't as if they'd been strapped for cash from what he knew. Obviously, his Mom never outright spoke about finances with him, but he seriously doubted they were on their way to the poorhouse anytime soon. After all, she'd still managed to finish her college education and find a job in her field of study shortly after he'd been born. Even with the economic downturn last year, things seemed stable for them.

Yup, his Mom was amazing. He would admit that loud and proud for anybody to hear. She was even more amazing that he was, which was saying something when he looked at it from an esoteric point of view. Of course, it was only he who would understand the greater meaning of such a claim, so putting an emphasis on other people to grasp his own admiration was pointless. In the end, his own opinion on the subject of his Mom's objective greatness was all that mattered.

She was great and he would fight anybody who said otherwise.

"...Man that dream really messed with me," he muttered, closing the car door behind him as he sat back down in the driver's seat.

"What was that?" Jason asked, closing the passenger side door.

"Nothing. Just thinking about how I can seduce Pax so that I can have a divine sugar momma," Perseus replied, caressing the leather-covered wheel with tender fingers. "What a car. If this is what I can expect… maybe it's worth getting a bit singed?"

The centurion shook his head mournfully. His blue eyes shone with pity and some deep-seated, wholly spiritual sadness. "There's something wrong with you. I wish I could help. For your sake and mine, tell me how to help you!"

"I sure hope your joking!" Perseus replied instantly, knowing that even if it was good-natured, there was probably a hint of truth in the byplay.

Overall, their banter felt lacking without Reyna in their group. It was, however, through her own decision to split the party. She'd apparently seen something, an apparition, when they'd driven by White Point Garden, which neither Perseus or Jason could see.

And so it went that she'd gotten out of the car and said they could regroup at Liberty Square, where one local told them they could be ferried to Fort Sumter from.

Perseus thought back to the last day that they'd spent traveling to South Carolina from Missouri. Whether by coincidence or through the blessing that Pax had bestowed on them, no trouble hindered their journey.

They made it through state lines, blazing a nice trail behind them in a figurative sense, although he wouldn't have been opposed to testing the limits of their gifted Mercedes. Most of the drive had been spent talking about nothing important. Harmless repartee that gave them comfort in acting like they hadn't ever seen the piles of tissue and the pools of blood. Their time was taken instead by talking of the past and bits of what the future held for each of them. Favorite foods, places to visit, and the likes. All intended to keep them from thinking too much on claws and dreadful laughter.

Pax had also been more than generous in giving them food, drink, and cash. With over a two thousand dollars worth of bills in the glove compartment, they'd managed to set themselves up in a very nice hotel in Nashville, Tennessee the night prior.

Even with that luxury, none of them had been able to sleep well. In fact, even though they booked two separate rooms, Jason and Reyna had ended up sharing one sometime during the night. When Perseus had opened his eyes after hours of restlessness, he'd found himself alone. Only somewhat worried about his other centurion, he'd walked into Reyna's room and had his mind put to rest seeing the two sleeping beside one another.

Whatever did or didn't happen, at that point he really didn't care. If they needed to lean on each other, that was none of his concern. So long as they kept their wits.

Thus it was that the last leg of their trip seemed to be going quite well. His confidence had grown once they'd passed the city limits and finally arrived in Charleston. The feeling of completion was almost overwhelming, really.

Of course, he hadn't been the only one to drive. More than once he'd handed the wheel to either Jason or Reyna, mostly because he'd gotten to a _very_ interesting section in the journal. He was excited to test it in battle, whenever that may be.

"Alright," he said, putting the key in the ignition. "Last stop, Liberty Square."

 **[[AaMT]]**

Not nearly enough people.

There weren't nearly enough people walking around Liberty Square for Perseus to feel comfortable. In fact, there wasn't another living soul in the small plaza with them. He and Jason made up a full one-hundred percent of all persons.

In truth, those odds didn't help him relax. That meant fifty-percent of all sapient life around him had the general tendency to piss him off.

What a wonderful thought.

"This is creepy."

Jason's words were right on the mark. The atmosphere was creepy. Unsettling to a very high degree, in fact. The world around them had almost seemed to disappear, leaving them isolated in some foreign place.

They'd already walked the perimeter of the small field, having made it to a chic looking building identified as the South Carolina Aquarium. Behind them was a flagpole, the flag atop it waving in the wind, it's flapping cloth combining with the oceans noises in filling the air with the only other sound around.

Under the pole was a small fountain pool. Right beside the pool was an area cordoned off with orange cones and yellow security tape. A large chunk of stone pavement had been taken from the ground, apparently, creating a hole nearly five feet deep and ten feet in diameter.

Perseus let his eyes wander from the hole to their right, where a building made of dull brick stood.

The Fort Sumter National Monument. Inside, they'd be able to book a trip to the island and finally finish their nearly week-long quest. No, they were already on the seventh day, which meant it had taken them exactly a week to complete. Not bad, though he doubted it would be earning them the world record for quest speedruns.

Suddenly—as in, without warning whatsoever, not even the slightest hint at some sort of trouble coming in any form of foreshadowing by his own inner narration or through his recollection of anybody else's words—a warrior clad in armor stepped out of the brick building.

The armored figure clambered down the stairs, fifteen in total, each step reverberating the creaks, squeaks, and clangs that came from his metallic bodice. In the bright sun, he cut an imposing shape through the otherwise drab surroundings.

First thing of major notice was the helmet. Two horn-like protrusions curved forward from the ear area, extending maybe an inch past his nose. It looked to be a combination between a Roman Gallic centurion helmet and a ridge helm. There was a red plume, horizontally placed atop the head, although that was overshadowed by the sharp, vertically placed band of ridges cutting down the helms middle, starting just above the eyebrows.

A sculpted face mask set about an even more intimidating countenance, the brow and cheeks chiseled into a permanent scowl, making the darkened eye holes glare perpetually. The mask was decorated with a molded metal beard, spread out and jagged to look like bolts of lightning jutting from the chin.

The rest of his armor was more or less standard, with an understated anatomical cuirass over his torso, four plates joining around the abdominal area and two artificially created pectoral muscles all in place. Spaulders, rerebraces, vambraces, and gauntlets fixed him as a person who enjoyed decent protection on his arms. The lack of any metal on his elbows or armpits, however, placed him firmly in that _decent_ category. Even so, dark red patches of cloth peeked out from the gaps in his armor, looking thick and ready to act as the last line of defense.

Greaves, sabatons, and that funny metal skirt—fauld, was it?—finished his whole ensemble from head to toe.

All in all, he looked ready to kill.

From behind the mask, he spoke. Calm, but relaying a no-nonsense inflection. "So you arrived after all. And missing one member, at that."

Perseus glanced at Jason, who'd already transformed Ivlivs into his Imperial gold sword. He opted to follow suit and change Impetus into his spear, switching to an appropriately guarded stance.

The man before them was trouble.

Fact.

"Is she here with you? Or did something happen to her? I wouldn't normally be so brazen as to ask about potentially deceased friends, however circumstance dictates that I push past my discomfort," the man continued, the black ports of his face mask swallowing the light around their immediate area. The metal expression carved as his own façade contrasted starkly with an otherwise calm voice.

A few seconds of silence.

Perseus steadied his breathing, having noticed that it'd picked up with the building anticipation. Or was it anxiety?

He figured it a bit of both, even though they were so closely related and could be connotative brothers in certain situations. Would people consider that butchering the English language? Maybe they would.

Maybe that's all he was in the end. Language butcher. A good epithet if halved. Although him sparing those demigods might have thrown that opportunity out of play.

Shame.

Actually, it was probably better that way.

"I apologize," the man said, shaking his armored head lightly after not receiving an answer. "You'd do well to keep that wariness about you. I haven't introduced myself, so it's fairly understandable that you'd be careful with sensitive or otherwise painful information around someone like myself. Either way, two out of three is most certainly fortuitous enough."

With that, the warrior straightened his posture, seeming to stand infinitely closer to the sky. He was a mountain of a man, probably closing in on seven feet in height. With his armor, his very presence seemed to fill every nook and cranny in Liberty Square, stretching to the heavens and to the sea, vague wisps of red miasma whipping and writhing from his position.

Tapping his metal heel to the stone below twice, the air warped, crumpled, and perverted itself a few inches from gauntlet-clad hands. He reached into the distortion and pulled out a gold dagger in his left hand, with his right tightly grasping a smokey gray longsword.

"My name is Pallas. I already know your names and the reason for your coming here. Unfortunately, this is where your quest comes to an end."

 **[[AaMT]]**

 _A Titan_.

Perseus was apprehensive just thinking about it. There wasn't any other way to think, though. Really, there wasn't, especially given how their fight started.

Both he and Jason had sprung into action with movements one and the same. Either by coincidence or through some sort of demigod telepathy—which he was sure they didn't have—their actions felt like mirror images.

Long strides from energetic legs.

Weapons reared in a position to strike, aimed for chinks in the foreboding armor.

They were ready to deal mortal blows with the very first attack. Both must have been of similar mindset, then, figuring that trying to draw out the confrontation would probably land them six-feet-under in the closest cemetery.

Given their last experience with a graveyard, Perseus figured that neither was particularly inclined to visit one again, whether alive or dead.

The distance between them and Pallas had been closed fast. Their shadows raced across the pavement, stretching in the afternoon light. When their hands came around, sword and spear in tow, the distinct instinct of fear had followed in short order.

While Perseus wasn't sure about his centurion, he'd certainly pushed his muscles to the limit during the sprint and swing. Things had been a blur even to him, using the superhuman condition afforded to him as a demigod so that he could surprise the Titan of Warfare.

And still, through it all, despite that truth, Pallas had ducked to the left while simultaneously bringing up his right arm.

The result was that Impetus impotently cut through the space where Pallas' neck had once been. Ivlivs, on the other hand, had been stopped dead in its tracks by the longsword. Both of their initial attacks had been disregarded without so much as a grunt from behind the mask.

When the sound of clanking metal met his ears, Perseus was already acutely aware of the knee that buried itself in his gut. His vision went white, flashing and blurred for nearly an eternity. He was pushed back, more launched than gently shoved, falling onto the cold concrete beneath him.

He scrambled up, wishing that he could rip his stomach out to ignore the horrible ache that was left throbbing from Pallas' singular strike. His arms and legs tingled, not a good sign if he was to assume.

The Titan stood in the same spot, with Jason close to the fountain, probably having met the same fate.

Perseus said nothing, again lunging at his enemy. Taking greater care, he twirled his spear around and sent it at Pallas' elbow. He didn't want to get close anymore, even if that might be the best way to deal with somebody of Pallas' strength. Engaging in extremely close quarters would be suicide.

Impetus never reached its target. An edge of gold raised to intercept, only for Perseus to pull back on his weapon and spin on his heel, sending it low.

Feinting with a polearm was far more difficult than with a sword. The momentum a long-reaching armament gained from a swing was harder to stop and then redirect in the same time, since most were top-heavy out of basic design. True, it was easier to follow through on an attack, but coming to a cold halt and shifting to another angle was different.

The split-second that it took for him to swap directions was all that Pallas would need.

A dull glint of gray ran into the ground, the longsword's blade saving its owner. Impetus had been stopped, though one of its lugs had gone behind the sword.

Perseus yanked back, pulling Pallas' weapon and arm along with his spear. Before Impetus could fully reach his body again, he sent it forward, aiming for the Titan's cloth-covered armpit.

Instead of meeting the mark, the spear passed under Pallas' arm completely.

Even with a set of metal armor, his opponent moved without an iota of compromise. Fluid and completely unimpeded, Pallas twirled around the spear, arm raised high, sword swinging up like a pendulum nearing its apex.

He pulled back, realizing the over-extension from his attack with the stab. A second later, gold bit into his right shoulder, drawing an agonizing line across his trapezius. On deft feet, he played to the side, avoiding the gray sword as it came to take his left arm.

The air whistled as the blade, followed by the sound of rock and metal grinding. The noise sent shivers down his spine, knowing that he'd been close to losing his dominant limb. Setting his unease aside, his torso twisted, moving to make for a stab.

Impetus managed to push the gold dagger a few inches to the side when they met. The opening was too small. There wasn't enough time for him to bring his weapon around for another attack, so he repositioned himself, dancing around the Titan.

Jason took the moment to jump into the fray again. Ivlivs came down and crashed against the longsword, which had been brought to the fore. Perseus dipped in, trying for the back of the knee, only for his swipe to go wide when Pallas pushed closer to Jason.

The centurion was actually managing to hold his ground, catching his footing so that he wasn't thrown away by the sheer strength of a divine being.

Perseus took the time to attack again. He moved to synchronize his assault with Jason. They hacked at the defending Titan, weapons meeting in rapid succession.

Pallas weaved his blades through the air effortlessly, blocking and parrying each strike that came too close. Other times, he would dodge left, right, and back, never once taking a direct hit anywhere on his person. More than a few times he managed to catch Jason and Perseus with a kick or elbow that would force them to retreat. He was fast for a man of such stature. His blows were hard to block, taking a substantial amount of strength to hold back.

When Jason and their foe locked swords again, Perseus jumped behind for a stab. This time, Pallas slid his sword along Jason's, removing it and using his dagger to hold Ivlivs at bay. When the longsword came around, it was too late for Impetus to move back.

His spear was knocked away.

He recovered fast. Again, the earspoon went for a different angle. Again, it was parried.

Swinging from the left—met with a gray edge.

Stabbed from the right—deflected upward.

Three different feints and a final slash to the right—flippantly pushed aside, no hesitation to be found.

Pallas pulled away from Jason and brought his knife around in a dangerously wide arc.

It should have been impossible to dodge.

Really, the sharp gold edge of the dagger should have cut a clean line through Perseus' eyes.

It should have blinded him.

He bent backward, upper body coming parallel to the ground, avoiding the knife's edge as it whisked through the air. With the butt of his spear planted on the ground, he pushed himself back up.

The Titan seemed momentarily unguarded, his arm still far out to his side from the massive swing he'd taken. Obviously, he'd been expecting to connect, leaving himself no real time to recover from the risky move.

Impetus and Ivlivs were each at the chinks in his armor in a flash.

"Guh..." Pallas grunted at the blades slashed through his left elbow and the back of his left knee.

The gray longsword buried itself into the pavement and a wave of invisible force blasted both Jason and Perseus back several feet. The concrete shattered, sending stone raining down around their makeshift arena.

"That… that hair..." the Titan's utterance was low and rumbling, in pitch alone. Its volume was immense, like an airplane roaring overhead, permeating the square with inquisitive malice. "That… that spear… those reactions and movements… how?"

Perseus groaned and rubbed his head, blood dripping from a cut above his eyebrow. He stood, wary of a sudden rebuttal to their joint assault. The words and question posed didn't register. His attitude, askance, if one might ask, was just a precaution taken for fighting an opponent who clearly outmatched him.

Their fight thus far hadn't been filled with talking or taunting, mostly because he felt that the Titan opposing him was more on the dour and serious court. There was a good deal of doubt over whether jeering would provoke Pallas or if it'd just waste his breath.

"Who are you?" Pallas asked, unchanging scowl directed fully on Perseus. "No… impossible. Your eyes are steel… but no… and yet you dodged my last attack. It's faint in you… but there's also something familiar? Ah, too many questions. No matter. It's certainly impossible. And soon it won't matter at all."

From the side, a new voice made itself known.

"Jason! Percy!"

He took his eyes off Pallas for a moment and turned, finding Reyna sprinting toward their position with sword in hand. While normally he would've joked about running with sharp objects, there were more pressing issues for him to worry about.

Realizing his mistake, his eyes shot back to Pallas.

The Titan had bent his legs slightly, as if preparing to jump. The metal scowl wasn't directed his way anymore. Instead, the blackened eyeholes were focused on the newest addition to the battle.

Taking barely a moment to think it over, Perseus leaped toward his approaching officer. From the corner of his eye, he could see Pallas doing the same thing, except the jump was far and away more impressive than any other he'd seen before. For a second, the sun was blocked as Pallas descended upon them, falling from the vault that launched him well over seventy feet into the air.

It was impossible to tell who would make it first.

They were close.

Reyna's eyes hadn't even taken notice of Pallas' form, even as a sword of gray raced to gut her. She had been too busy worrying about them to focus on the actual threat. In his mind, he could only curse her ineptitude for not taking stock of the situation before moving into the metaphorical fire.

Maybe it was luck, then. Karma, perhaps. Fate or destiny, if he were being open-minded.

His shoulder slammed against her chest, knocking her away just as Pallas' longer blade swiped down. She'd been spared the attack, while he hadn't.

Pain screeched down the length of his back. From his shoulder blade to just above his pelvic bone, fiery agony racked every nerve. A hoarse gasp left his lips when he fell, choked by his own volition.

He hit the ground face-down, cheek colliding with the cold stone. What he felt was reminiscent of being shot. While it wasn't a new sensation, he couldn't say that it was pleasant. Hell, he doubted even a masochist would enjoy it.

There was just too much.

Way too much of it.

Too much pain.

Perseus didn't know how long he watched the fight continue after he'd fallen.

Reyna and Jason had counterattacked almost instantly, taking the offensive route to a presumed victory. Their weapons clashed with Pallas over and over. Apart from his own haggard breathing, the sounds of ringing metal filled his ears. Gold and gold met with gold and gray. From what he could see, Pallas was being pushed back. Jason's swings, especially, rattled the Titan each time Ivlivs made contact with the longsword.

With a grunt, Perseus moved his hand into his front pocket. His fingers brushed something warm and pliable.

He actually hadn't been planning on bringing any ambrosia with him. Even though Pax had given them more than enough, some sort of pride and complacency had led him to disregard the divine food. Only through Jason's insistence had he stuffed a small square into his front and rear pockets, mostly just to placate the guy.

The bastard might have saved his life through persistent nagging.

 _How sad._

He swallowed the ambrosia as fast as he could.

One minute passed, horribly long. He needed time to recover properly.

Luckily, his centurions had managed to keep from dying in that time. Sure, he knew that he wasn't fully healed. The left side of his back still stung something fierce. The feeling of fire still hadn't left him either. He was uncomfortably warm and prickly.

Perseus pushed the discomfort from the forefront of his mind, focusing instead on fighting the powerful enemy. As he thought more about it, he found the fight up until that point rather underwhelming. Hell, even Mithras had been more aggressive during their "friendly" duel.

Comparatively, Pallas—who was supposed to be their mortal foe—was about as docile as a newborn baby seal. Not as adorable, sure, but just as aggressive. Most of the battle had been a defensive one on the Titan's part. It just wasn't right. They were missing something. It felt wrong.

Taking to his feet, Perseus did a few shoulder rotations, wincing at the shooting stabs that echoed down his back.

"Ah… this is certainly more difficult than I'd have imagined," Pallas said, kicking Jason away and cutting Reyna with his dagger, making her fall back. "I can see why uncle was against this plan now. You three are no strangers to combat. And you, daughter of Bellona, are quite annoying, empowering your comrades to fight with increased vigor. The son of Jupiter's attacks are no matter to scoff at now.

"It is auspicious, then, that I've no reason to shackle my domain any longer. Uncle warned me to not trivialize this fight and yet I did just that," the Titan shook his head. Black empty eyes turned to Perseus. "And you… I have personal issues with. Your eyes are simply too reminiscent, too similar for me to ignore. The way you move... single combat against you is certainly tiring. Therefore, perhaps if I level my domain against you...?"

Like before, red miasma poured through the air. This time, full tendrils of bodied crimson mist spread across the ground in every direction, undulating like waves through the open area. A distinct pressure built, like frenzied throngs of charging people pushing against a flimsy wall.

The wind picked up, much like it had when Mithras went all _Super Saiyan 2_ on him those days past. Unlike then, however, the gale actually pushed him back, forcing him to lean forward a bit and tighten his hold on Impetus. Covering his eyes with his free hand, Perseus was barely able to see Pallas swing the longsword upward.

He wasn't given any time to wonder why the Titan swiped at the empty air.

A blast of invisible force slammed into him, sending him skyward. Wind rushed in his ears and against his back while he flew. His vision was blurry and incomprehensible for the most part. It was hard to tell what was happening— _was that water below him?_ —although there was a noticeable ache around his chest from the blow.

His body turned through the air—though not of his own volition. It was just momentum. A lucky break.

Did he have a rabbit's foot locked away somewhere that he forgot? He figured that for his luck to have held for so long, that just the foot wouldn't suffice.

' _The whole leg more like.'_

Whatever the case, he was glad. When his upper body twisted around, he caught sight of the rapidly approaching ground, ready to pulverize his bones.

Before he hit the ground, he grabbed hold of universal laws and tossed them aside. A sphere of Titanic Energy formed between him and the ground, expanding out to act as a very crude cushion.

He reached with his focus, knowing his work wasn't done.

The instant his chest came into contact with the bubble, he forced it to collapse again into a smaller sphere. He knew better than to think just holding the energy in place would have saved him in any way. Sure, he wouldn't have hit the ground, but he still would've hit something solid and unyielding.

He'd needed something to slow his speed, ergo making the sphere compact again at a reduced rate. Or rather, enclosing the original outward blast within another blast going in, with the latter being more powerful, if only marginally. That way, he could reduce his speed before hitting the ground and save himself from turning into a nice paste.

Again, it seemed like luck was on his side that his hastily created plan worked.

Perseus thanked Fortuna as he landed with a roll, a bit miffed that she might hold it over his head in the future. After all, luck was her domain. And he'd just gotten very lucky twice in a row.

Patting his jeans free of dust, he straightened up, taking his surroundings into consideration while scratching the back of his head furiously.

He was near the edge of some kind of sandbar or small island, with a bridge rising above his head about a hundred feet from the shore. Small trees dotted the far side of the island and two trenches of water occupied the other side. Dry dirt was packed tight beneath his feet and continued to cover most of what he could see. Neither Jason or Reyna was near him.

"Great, just what we needed. Of course, Jason gets to be Fred and run off with Daphne while I get stuck as Shaggy, without a Scooby. Fun times," he couldn't help but mutter lowly to himself, begrudging the situation. "Now they're off fighting a Titan while I'm stuck finding a way off this hunk of dirt. Can it get worse?"

Taking a step toward the water, he stopped when a swarm of red tendrils swirled down, filling the other side of the island with ghostly miasma. Hundreds of silhouetted outlines took shape from the fog. Hundreds upon hundreds.

The sandbar smelled of ash and smoke. Sounds of clanking metal and horses braying and people shouting raced across the land, making its way past the river and into the sea. Above the island, dark clouds gathered. Small hunks of burning rock rained down along the island's edges, cutting off thoughts of escape.

Where was he—Sodom? Or Gomorrah? Neither, he hoped, since both supposedly were swallowed by brimstone and fire.

Perseus looked back at the collection of crimson vapor, finding that the ethereal shapes from before had fully taken corporeal form.

An army of fiery soldiers opposed him. In the middle was a horde of footmen, emaciated beyond the point of living, grayish-black skin wrinkled and dry and stretched taut across their bones. Veins of glowing orange pulsed from beneath what remained of their distorted flesh, flames in their eye sockets. Most had torso and leg armor, but nothing else except for swords and shields.

On either flank was a host of smoldering cavalry; hellriders, if he described them in one word. The horses, protected by charred gray armor, were intimidating enough, each snort sending ash into the air. Atop each mount was a rider, fully covered by black plate armor, encrusted with soot. Orange fire clung to random parts of their bodies, dying embers upon a dark backdrop.

"So it _can_ get worse."

Still, he couldn't help but crack his knuckles. He sighed and smiled, shaking his head with a chuckle. In addition to trepidation, both excitement and tranquility took root in his mind. Thinking back, he could understand the reason for both. One was a part of who he was, while the other was a gift received not long ago.

"Looks like I get a chance to use this sooner than I'd've thought. So let's fight fire with fire, yeah?"

His unoccupied hand rose, silver flames catching and spreading from the center of his palm out to each finger and down to the end of his wrist. Soon, the entire appendage was lost in roiling heat, consumed in a conflagration that made him flinch from the intensity as it burned him.

The silver fire would take its toll, though not on his stamina like _rending_ or Titanic Energy did. Instead, it demanded its payment in flesh to ignite. And slowly but surely, it would take its given sacrifice per the microgram until only scorched bone remained.

With his time limit set, he twitched his fingers and sent a small but raging wave of fire ahead of him.

Now that he was away from prying eyes, the freedom to use his power came unabated. He would've preferred testing his abilities in a less dangerous scenario, but since beggars couldn't choose, the point was moot. He'd just have to make the most of the opportunity and test his power against the domain of a Titan.

' _Cake_.'

* * *

 **A/N: So close to posting this on New Years Day. Too bad.**

 **Anyway, the next chapter will bring about the resolution of the quest. This was a fun chapter to write I have to say. Heres hoping that the lovely audience has a great year in the making and a good holiday season in general.**


	14. End of the Beginning

_**Review Response-**_

 **xSkiesOfBlue11: Unfortunately, he'll be stuck on an island for the entire chapter.**

 **Malosi06: Yup, it's cool that someone called me on it.**

 **Guest #1 (srfc): Thanks!**

 **Jet: If that's how you want to imagine them, then by all means please do! Hestia is going to stay a recurring minor character. As far as I've planned, this chapter is her biggest physical contribution. We'll still see more of her in the future, though it'll more be for moral support.**

 **Guest #2 (random guest): I've heard of but never seen Busou Shoujo Machiavellism. Color me intrigued, though. I might just check it out now.**

 **Disclaimer: Wherefore do we repeat in no uncertain terms, that the source of these works are not ours. They are merely transformative. I don't own it.**

* * *

14\. End of the Beginning

* * *

Perseus watched as a small portion of ghoulish footmen disappeared.

The wave of silver fire he sent swallowed their forms, only engulfing twenty or so in its hungry maw. His flames licked at the ground and formed a barricade of heat that rose fifteen feet high. Those that stood right beside the inferno remained still, not bothering to move even when glittering embers threatened to consume them as well.

He frowned at the reaction.

His hand came up when he prepared to let loose again.

Just as he went to ignite himself, both hosts of cavalry charged. Roaring thunder raced toward him as hooves pounded on the dirt. Dust flew into the air, trailing behind the hellriders as they broke formation to encircle him.

With no more time to waste, he drew from what his father called _the aether_.

The concept of _the aether_ certainly wasn't original to Iapetus, nor was its theory created by Plato or any other human, as many mortals believed. Even Gaea—according to the journal—spoke of _the aether_ as if there was a grand mystery behind its origin.

Whatever the case, Plato had been correct in one aspect.

 _The aether_ was most certainly the quintessence of all matter. Apparently, there was nothing that could stand to be more immaculate than _the aether_. It was, is, and would always be. No ends or beginnings. A simple constant to the universe, maybe there before Chaos or any other sapient being had come to exist.

It was through _the aether_ that things happened. Matter. Time, perhaps.

Titanic Energy and silver fire, alike, could be seen as constituents in regards to _the aether_. Therefore—Iapetus had concluded—if "one wasn't able to understand _the aether_ that synthesized to form their entity, they would walk blind in a world full of marvel".

An oddly philosophical take on the quintessence. Perseus hadn't taken his father for one to be so patronizing or zealous when it came to… anything, really.

In the end, he hadn't been able to really understand how _the aether_ within him was supposed to help summoning fire.

Instead, he focused mainly on the other lesson from the journal regarding fire's supernatural and natural tendencies. Those had been far more straightforward and _way_ less headache-inducing than thinking about _the aether_.

 _Hot and dry_.

A breath in; a gathering of the kindling he'd need.

The galloping of horses and the scraping of swords exiting scabbards was lost in the crackling that deafened his senses.

 _Sharp, subtle, mobile_.

A breath out; the ignition of a much harsher spark.

The air around him lost its moisture. Even his eyes had gone dry.

Lungs burning, heart racing, blood boiling; the euphoria that welled deep inside him, beneath the basic components of his person, soon spilled into his left hand for the second time.

He drew his arm across his torso, fist clenched as he manifested his birthright. Through the biting pain, he prepared for a larger amount to be released. He was aware that the hellriders were nearly upon him. Twenty feet at most separated them.

The taste of ash and cinder crisped his tongue. The scent of burning flesh filled his nostrils.

Blinking sweat out of his eyes, Perseus let go of a final sigh when the horsemen were close enough to touch. It was a breath that would excite the spark in his hand, setting it upon the world, just another realized miracle.

A firestorm swept across the sandbar.

Silver brightness blocked out everything else from his sight. Ramparts of flame roared to life, insatiable in their appetite to devour what came into contact with it. Towers created from his power almost scraped the black clouds above him, just short of actually nuzzling the heavens.

Under a sea of fire, the hellriders were incinerated; eaten and imbibed by the rolling waves, their forms were ash within seconds.

There came an intense sweltering heat, potent enough to make him weak with exhaustion. His lethargy came to an intense climax, almost forcing him to fall over and take some time to blister in the bright hell that he'd created.

Eventually—thankfully—all that he summoned soon died, fading faster than normal and leaving darkened earth behind.

He wiped away the little sweat that still dripped from his hair. Even though he'd been in the middle of the inferno, he was—more or less—completely unharmed. Only his left hand, which he'd used as the catalyst for his _conflagration_ , was visibly affected.

' _Yeah, that's got a nice ring. Conflagration.'_

Clenching his fingers, he examined the marred flesh. A few nasty red splotches that still hurt in the open wind covered his sacrificed limb. Most of the damage focused on the palm area, though a few burn marks arched up his fingers and stretched down to his wrist.

It would heal, he was sure.

With the contented knowledge that he wasn't horribly scarred or permanently disabled, his attention turned back to the surrounding area.

"...What?"

Standing directly across from him, a good hundred or so yards out, the footmen that hadn't charged stared at him with blazing eyes.

Their presence surprised him. From where he'd been standing, it had definitely looked like the entire island caught fire under his power. Even with all that he felt, had he really only been able to conjure a _conflagration_ suited to cover a paltry hundred feet?

That was… disappointing.

Oh well. There weren't too many left. A tad over fifty, it seemed.

Given time, hopefully his control or aptitude could improve through some practice.

He hefted Impetus onto his shoulder and took a step forward, fully prepared to deal with the stranglers. The fight was basically over. Losing against such a pale force would be unacceptable.

Just as his other foot touched the dirt, the dark clouds above belched an ocean's worth of scarlet fog. The payload touched down beside and behind the line of emaciated ghouls, exploding in a violent clash of fire and earth, sending molten clumps of magma high above.

Perseus covered his eyes, dodging a few small pieces of superheated rock as they came close. When he moved his hand down, frustration replaced what had been content.

Another army had been spawned from the mist. More cavalry and footmen, weapons already drawn and sizzling.

He took a quick glance down at his hand. It was still useful, able to keep a solid grasp on Impetus, though it hurt like a bitch. Not wanting to cripple himself, he decided not to summon another _conflagration_ like the previous one.

The only reason he'd created so much fire was that he didn't think the army of ghouls could be so easily replaced. He should've know better than to underestimate a Titan's domain.

Given this situation, the best option for him was to use each of his abilities sparingly and when necessary. He wasn't sure how well those soldiers fought, but he'd learned his lesson already. They wouldn't be getting a single chance to surprise him.

His body inched back as he inhaled.

The scent of sulfur was the trigger that set him off.

He ran, weapon tucked just under his right arm so that it wouldn't swing around. Dry air brushed his face and made his eyes water as he cut through the haze of smoke that lingered in front of him.

Why he charged the opposing force wasn't a question he could answer easily. Sure, he knew the answer, but it wasn't exactly the most sensible thing to say aloud. Anybody who knew him might have never let him live it down.

He hadn't even made it half the distance before the block and wedges of fire-zombies rushed forward to meet him.

 **[[AaMT]]**

Reyna was angry.

No. She'd gone past labeling it such a boring word.

She was pissed.

Worried, yes, but pissed beyond comparison. Even as she brought her sword around to ram it against Pallas' own, her ire was front and center in her mind. No matter her awareness that she was coming dangerously close to letting emotion dictate her attacks, she didn't once stop.

When her gold weapon met a line of gray metal, she twisted her upper body to push even harder. It was satisfying to see the mountainous man turning his attention toward her in full. His sword was driven away, leaving him open for Jason to spin up from behind.

Just from the look on his face, Reyna could tell that her friend was similarly upset. With both hands on Ivlivs' handle, he swung with a ferocity that matched his expression. A snarl had edged its way onto his lips, giving the little scar above his mouth a prominent edge to it. Just from that alone, it was clear that his vexation wasn't leaving anytime soon.

Pallas slipped under the incoming sword with preternatural grace. For a man of such frame, he had the unnatural disposition to move like a gazelle when the situation called for it. He could have passed for a ballerina, in her honest opinion.

She reared back and swept with the bottom of her foot, catching the side of his helmet with a fairly weak kick.

He moved with the blow, letting his head lead him in a quick semicircle pirouette. His massive fist collided with Jason's gut while his other hand lashed out with the longsword, forcing Reyna to defend a ridiculously powerful uppercut swing.

They had been fighting for a few minutes already, during which a combined strike between her and Jason managed to break the Titan's dagger. Now they only dealt with the longsword, which was still more than what their foe needed.

Hell, she had a sinking suspicion that he could've fought them unarmed—only fists and feet—and still found them lacking. There was a systematic lack of aggression which belied his expertise.

What a scary man to be facing.

Regaining her footing, she launched into a series of cuts and slashes, not particularly in the mood to play defense. Her sword came close to nicking his armor several times, not that she thought those kinds of scratches would help.

Still, it wasn't that she was hoping to finish him then and there.

It wasn't _her_ that she knew would end the fight.

It wasn't _her_ that was the spawn of Lord Jupiter, King of the Gods and the Sky. She was playing second-fiddle to the raw strength that Jason held. There was no way she could compare. It just wasn't possible.

Knowing that her best friend was stronger than she wasn't upsetting. Well, not _too_ upsetting. She would admit some jealously toward him; not much, but certainly she couldn't say she didn't want the kind of power that he always held.

How was it fair, anyway?

He could fly, summon lightning, lift a car if he really tried, and on top of all that, he still looked damn good doing so. There should have been limits to it all. If he had all that power, then to balance things out, he should've _at least_ been ugly.

Instead, he was handsome. So he had good looks, power, and that cute little way of becoming embarrassed enough to blush from his cheeks to his ears.

' _Now's not the time for that.'_ She chastised herself for the mindful wandering. If it hadn't been for Venus, then she'd have been on top of her game. Fighting against Pallas, there really shouldn't have been any reason for her to be distracted. _'But the gods apparently don't care. Seriously, she must've known that there was a Titan in the city. Why would she throw me for a loop now of all times?'_

Reyna was angry, and not just at the Goddess of Love for their discussion earlier.

It had been her own negligence that led to Percy getting hurt. If only she'd been more focused on Pallas…

Beneath the anger, she was worried for her teammate.

He was alive, of that she was sure, but his condition was beyond her knowledge. She just hoped—

—Out of the corner of her eye, a massive roiling mass of silver fire reaching toward the sky cut off her train of thought. The shimmering flames cast an impressive image near the river, right behind a long bridge that stretched out of sight.

Pallas, his visage pointing toward the random conflagration, didn't see Jason point Ivlivs up in the air. A few of the wispy clouds above darkened, becoming thicker and more voluminous. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the hair on the back of Reyna's neck prickled.

Realizing Jason's intention, she closed the distance between herself and the inattentive Titan.

Her sword flashed out, aimed for his neck. The arc was tight and restrained, only one of her arms having moved to swing.

Pallas came to his senses again, lifting the longsword up to catch her blade.

Not wanting to play the Titan's game—and having expected him to go for a block—she planted one of her feet and pivoted. Her body switched directions, still carrying momentum through her movement. She tossed her weapon from one hand to the other, bringing it up as she passed by Pallas' unguarded side.

It never made contact with the chink she'd been aiming for.

Pallas' unoccupied hand shot out and closed around her gold blade before it could reach him. The clang of metal on metal sent cold shivers down Reyna's spine. Her feet left the ground as he pulled her closer.

An armored fist collided with her stomach, knocking the breath straight from her lungs. His leg came around and caught her flank. Another fist slammed into the right side of her jaw.

She stumbled away, vision swimming from the last blow. Her brain was rattled, painful pulses that echoing loud in her temples. Disoriented, she didn't see what hit her chest, only feeling the terrible ache that shot through her system.

Lifted off her feet, Reyna was weightless for a moment.

When her body hit the ground again, she felt heavier than a block of cement. She tumbled, her arms taking most of the damage from the pavement, rolling head-over-heels until a wall forced her to halt.

Groaning, she cracked an eye open to make sure the Titan wasn't advancing on her while she was down.

Instead of meeting the cold visage of a scowling mask like she feared, her vision was filled with a flash of purple-white light.

An explosion of sound made her flinch.

She suddenly felt a bit warmer than she had before.

That hadn't been what she was expecting. While she knew Jason was pretty adept at using his power, she'd never seen him summon a bolt of lighting like _that_ before. Most of the time he'd charge his weapon or discharge smaller branches of electricity from his hands.

To basically call a massive bolt which streaked from hundreds of feet up… well, he'd just never done anything so dramatic. A demigod gifted with such incredible control over his power—a dominance over nature itself—hadn't been heard of in decades. World War II might have been the last time if she recalled her studies.

Blinking the dots out of her eyes, Reyna bore witness to what amounted to a humbled Titan.

There on his knees inside a circle of charred pavement, Pallas rested on his haunches. His torso was still straight, unbent. Both arms were by his sides, hanging limp. It was his head that bowed, held down to stare at the ground with an unflinching profile.

Soon, the ringing in her ears was replaced by Jason's worried calls.

"-Na! -Na! -Eyna! Reyna!"

Sometime during her dumbstruck observations, her friend had made his way over to where she lay. A different kind of warmth spread when she felt one of his hands cup her cheek.

Venus really had overstepped established boundaries.

"I'm"—she suppressed a more visceral wince at the sharp ache in her jaw—"not exactly fine. I'll live, though." Her hand reached up, asking for assistance which he eagerly provided. Pulled to her feet, she rubbed her side tenderly.

Several seconds passed where neither of them said a word. Both of them stared at the downed Titan, who hadn't moved an inch during their interaction.

Smoke curled off his armor, which had distorted in some places due to the lightning's heat. The warped bronze metal reflected sunlight, making him seem like a statue, a silent sentinel.

"How… unpleasant."

Pallas' voice was perturbed, if nothing else. There might have been a hint of pain, too, though he covered it well under placid indifference. Even in his defeated position, the Titan still seemed to dominate their makeshift arena.

His presence was larger than life.

With deliberate movements, his head rose, followed shortly by his body. His armor squeaked and whined, grating against itself in an effort to loosen and expand.

Looking at his mask, she shuddered, an involuntary response to the deep crimson that burned from the eye holes. Mist escaped from the ports, ascending and drifting lazily as if their existence didn't signal a major shift in Pallas' demeanor.

"Were you expecting a different outcome, Grace? The look on your face certainly indicates such."

"I should've known better but yeah, I was hoping that would be it," Jason admitted ruefully. He raised Ivlivs. "Not as if I can't just do it again. How many do you think you can take before you go down?"

Pallas took his fallen weapon. "I wouldn't give you that luxury."

He raised the longsword high, much like Jason had, then brought it down almost too fast to see.

A ripple of force ripped through the ground and raced toward them. Reyna was about to jump aside when the invisible attack dissipated ten feet from where they stood.

The afternoon air grew warmer, small motes of light descending upon the battlefield in waves. Embers, small flakes of fire, floated into her line of sight and moved to form a singular mass. A dull flare of heat and light later saw a young girl, dressed in a long brown robe with a shawl over her head, appear in front of Reyna and Jason defensively.

"...Hestia." The enemy growled, more emotion coming through than ever before. "I've been waiting for thousands of years, for this very moment."

Hestia? That was Lady Vesta's Greek form, wasn't it?

"Pallas," the goddess greeted with a nod. "I can't imagine why this meeting was so important to you."

"Revenge, of course. For my uncle. Revenge is what drives us."

"Is that so?" Hestia hummed. She turned to look at Reyna and Jason with eyes of crackling fire, giving them a happy smile. "Hello to the both of you. So sorry you had to see me in this form. Perseus, however, prayed to me and I came as quick as I could. Give me a moment, and I can shift into Vesta."

A frown touched Reyna's mouth. Was that how the split forms of gods worked? She'd been told by her mother that most of the old gods could still shift into their Greek counterparts, though it was extremely rare. As in, the last time had been three-hundred odd years back.

The young girl glowed briefly, changing shape to become a woman wearing the same brown robe, sans the shawl.

Jason took a step forward. "Percy's okay?"

"Quite so. At least, he was when I last saw him a few seconds ago," her smile flitted away, expression becoming troubled. "That being said, he's currently fighting against Pallas' domain of war on his own. An infinite number of soldiers leveled against him. Even he will fall against those odds, which is why I came here at his request in order to assist in your own battle. Please excuse my intrusion."

"By all means, intrude," Jason said. "I'm glad to have some help. Thank you, Lady Hes-er… Lady Vesta."

"I am both, in a sense, so please don't become flustered on my part. I'm sorry, though, that you won't be aided by a more combat-oriented god," the goddess took a small pin from her hair and twirled it between her fingers. It ignited in a flurry of flames, extending through the glowing orange cinders.

A wicked metal scythe took the place of her hairpin, a good foot taller than she was, yet also seeming to fit into her hands perfectly. The weapon's spine had a slightly defined S-shaped curve to it and the blade's edge danced with fire.

"It's been well over five-thousand years since I last laid my hands on this weapon," she brooded, looking more than a little unpleased. "I'd hoped to never pick it up for use against family ever again. Or maybe to never use it at all. Violence… well… I dislike violence in both forms. Still, I took Perseus' sacrifice and didn't properly repay him for such an exquisite offering. The Nemean Lion's hide, if you can believe. What a nice young man. I suppose, on my own honor, I simply _must_ interfere."

 **[[AaMT]]**

Perseus parried, sending Impetus out to the left, then to the right in quick succession.

The two intercepted strikes bounced away, giving him the time to spin around and decapitate the soldier approaching his back. His spear cut through the ghoul's neck, toppling the creature.

He ducked, having seen one of the riders advance toward him with sword drawn. The blade passed overhead at the same time that Impetus impaled the horse's unprotected belly.

From his right, another infantryman tried to grapple him. A foot planted on its solar plexus pushed it away enough for him to sending a small stream of fire into its face, killing the attacker and turning the head into a smoldering mess of burning flesh and charred bone.

To his left, another mounted ghoul rushed his position. He swept around and blasted the hellrider away with a short burst of Titanic Energy.

His breathing was labored.

Just like Heracles had done the twelve labors to make up for killing his wife and whatnot, so too did Perseus labor for his own stupidity in trying to protect Reyna. The more he thought on the subject, the harder it became to justify his actions as reasonable.

Unfortunately, although he wanted to think further on the cause for his suffering, the situation called for his full attention. Anything less than that would see him dead.

All around him was a teeming horde of fire-zombies. The soldiers of Pallas, born directly because of his domain over warfare. If Hestia had been correct, then the supply was infinite. He'd be forced to fight until Pallas was beaten. A neverending story, he might dub it.

Too bad he didn't have AURYN for protection, nor did he have a luckdragon on his side.

When he'd seen the massive bolt of lightning split the sky, he figured that Jason and Reyna were in trouble. It was around that same time that he'd recalled his cousin's words from their discussion in her temple the week prior.

" _Additionally, I'm sure before the quest is over you'll require my help once again; this time though, it will need to be much more direct."_

That was her statement.

When it'd popped back into his mind, he sent her a prayer after some internal debate.

Hestia had been by his side the second his words left his mouth. It was both heartening and creepy how fast she'd flashed to him. Didn't she have her own things to do? Some fires to tend to or families to watch over?

No, scratch that; it'd be even creepier if she just watched hundreds of families go about their daily routines. She might have been exempt from mortal laws regarding privacy but still… had she no shame?

A sharp pain from his right arm brought him back to focus on the battle.

The offending party went in for another cut, bringing its sword up under his arm to lop it off at the elbow, the first move advantage giving it a significant headstart.

Perseus, not interested in losing his second favorite arm—coming in just behind his dominant left arm—wretched his body up and in the opposite direction of the footman. He barely avoided the blade as it whisked past him, only to twist away once more when two horsemen made an attempt for his back.

Just as he maneuvered himself from the danger, he was forced to defend all his sides by a semi-coordinated attack from four soldiers around him. His spear lashed out, gutting two and then coming back to deflect the other two.

He spun, backhanding another footman that went for a stab in his blind spot. With a snap, the ghoul's head was split down the middle.

Using the same hand, he sent a small cone of fire out to his side, catching a dozen charging hellriders.

The charcoal-soldiers, while not incredible fighters in any way, weren't exactly shambling corpses moving at a slug's pace either. Individually, none of them would be able to touch him in combat. They probably held the same psychical attributes that a normal mortal did. As a half-blood, he was too fast, too strong.

Together, though, in their teeming masses, Perseus' limits were made clear to him. He took a quick glance at the berth he'd created and chose to start a counter-charge.

His legs carried him through wave after wave of warriors. They threw themselves at him in droves, uncaring of how many it took or the losses they would sustain. Even when their comrades fell beside them, armor cleaved and bodies ruined, not a single one hesitated to meet Impetus in its wrathful maneuvers.

His arms moved in every which direction. There were so many, and with their numbers, they'd encircled him long ago. Without pause, his eyes would flicker from place to place, tracking the nearest ghouls so that he could finish them before they got too close. He'd already lost count of how many he'd killed.

His spear became an inseparable part of his body, swinging, arcing, stabbing back, up, left and right. Impetus changed into little more than a quick glimmer of silver metal that whistled through the air, piercing what it was meant to pierce.

Due to his tendency for dismemberment, he'd learned that even though the fire-zombies were emaciated, blood still ran through their glowing veins. Sure, it was a bit more of a fluorescent orange than deep red, but there was plenty of it to drench him in its luminescent hue.

However, even with his superhuman abilities, it was impossible to dodge or block every attack thrown his way. Some of the ghouls would find an opening in his stance and take the chance.

None of his injuries were especially worrisome.

Most were similar to the ones that he'd received from fighting the empousai. Small cuts that stung when he moved but that didn't impede him.

If he could have left the description at that, he'd have been super A+.

Too bad dozens of minor wounds positively littered his body.

From his head to his legs, there wasn't a single section of him that hadn't been marked by a blade. Most of the cuts were to his arms and legs, the extremities always easiest to target, especially when he'd gone on his major offensive.

Blood—his own dark red—ran in lazy rivulets down his arms. He'd discarded his jacket sometime during his attack on the army, the fabric having been little more than clumps of ribbon sticking to his bloodied body.

His legs were also scored by lines of bleeding red, the jeans he wore in better shape than his jacket, thankfully. He knew they wouldn't hold out for much longer, though, and dreaded the thought of fighting thousands of scorched ghouls in nothing but his _Masters of the Universe_ boxers, starring Skeletor's laughing mug on them.

Hestia might never let him live it down.

Compounding the pain of embarrassment, the area on his back where Pallas had cleaved into was aching horribly again. Each breath sent thousands of stabs up along his spine and deep into his chest.

To top off the shitshow his life had become in less than thirty minutes, his left hand wasn't exactly in top form. Most of it was now a pinkish-red color, cracked skin making it look dry. Two oblong blisters had formed on his palm, which was the focal point of his power.

He wasn't sure what degree burns he had but figured blistering was probably a bad sign.

That given, he couldn't rightfully stop using his _conflagration_. It had proven its worth to him more than once already.

Shifting on his feet, he blitzed through a wall of footmen, Impetus swirling in crescents of silver, biting into several ghouls as he went by.

Orange ichor flew into the air, arcing across the field and splattering onto the ground and his person alike. Bodies fell without limbs or neatly bisected, dying just as any mortal would die, writhing in pools of their blood.

A host of five horsemen galloped toward him from either side, splitting the sea of infantry.

He skid to a stop and slammed Impetus down, panic setting his senses alight with a surge of adrenaline.

The unit to his immediate right was blown away by his overly eager use of Titanic Energy, ripped apart by the generated force, a mangled heap of shredded metal and liquefied tissue blasted into the ghoul horde.

' _Ah, shit.'_

His legs suddenly felt twice as heavy. He'd used too much stamina. It wasn't possible for him to get out of the way from the riders to his left.

Planting Impetus diagonally, he barely lined his spear properly before they were upon him.

The first horse couldn't rear back in time to stop its momentum, running its neck into the braced spearhead.

Perseus yanked his weapon to the side, ripping through the horse's throat with a wet squelch. He spun around, bringing Impetus in a wide swing that cut through the second hellrider's gut, tearing into the scorched armor with some resistance.

Out of time, he wasn't able to avoid the third horseman. The skin of his collarbone split under the edge of hot steel that met it. Pain flared and ebbed away, endorphins keeping him from collapsing.

A fourth aggressor came from his other side, more metal biting into his flank, just a few inches beneath his lowest rib. A snarl of anger made it's way past his clenched teeth and he retaliated by cutting the horse's front legs off, felling the rider.

He pounced, rolling to dodge an incoming attack while also closing the distance between him and his downed target.

The butt of his spear came up and rammed into the fourth's chest, denting the metal armor. When it staggered back, he pushed forward and delivered his strongest straight kick to the ghoul's knee, bending the joint back with an audible crunch. Blood exploded from the back of its leg.

Before he could satisfy his revenge, he flung Impetus behind him, parrying an interloping blade when it tried to catch his spine. Left hand igniting, he yelled out a few expletives while sending his _conflagration_ to devour everything around him.

"Don't interfere!" he shouted, the roaring flames drowning his voice as they swept across the corpse-ridden ground.

He hadn't even noticed that the defeated ghouls didn't disappear like monsters did. They remained on the battlefield, littering the arena with their disemboweled, dismembered, deadened forms.

Gouges in the earth from where his spear had cleaved were visible every few feet. How long had he been fighting, anyway?

The immediate sound of clinking brought his head around. The downed rider was limping toward him, using its sword as a crutch, broken leg trailing across the dirt. It seemed eerily determined to finish their fight.

Perseus glared, gritting his teeth at the pain radiating from his left hand. If the dead man walking could go on, then so could he.

"So it is as I thought."

The voice came from behind. He flicked his fingers and engulfed the rider in silver flames, spinning around at the same time to avoid being blindsided.

Standing a good ten feet from him was Pallas, holding a massive black sword in one hand, looking none the worse for wear. His stance screamed aggression.

' _Shit, did they lose?'_

"The reasons are beyond me. I simply can't fathom why. Yet here you stand before me. Living proof that Uncle Iapetus… was involved with a mortal. He willingly chose to lay with the disease that plagues our world, spreading it even further by spawning an abomination like you."

Perseus raised an eyebrow and glanced around. The smoldering flames he'd created were only just snuffing themselves. Outside the ring of dying fire, ghouls waited, unflinchingly watching the interaction at a safe distance.

"Uh… this isn't what it looks like?" he asked, shrugging helplessly. "How in the world did this fire get here? Wow! Gee golly, I sure must have a guardian angel watching over me or something! And who is this _Iapetus_ character you speak of? Mayhaps, be he a man of great virtue?"

Pallas hefted the sword up and pointed it at him. "I can't help but find it odd that he recommended your death and not your capture. His own spawn. And then there was Ego, who could wield the same fire. I'll be sure to bring him your head and demand answers for all the questions I have."

 **[[AaMT]]**

Jason watched from the sidelines as a goddess and a Titan fought.

Though he wanted to help, there hadn't been any good opportunities presented to him. Both deities had moved faster than he could. Their forms were difficult to describe in detail, becoming blobs of rushing brown and distorting bronze.

Sparks flew haphazardly in every direction when their weapons clashed. The burning scythe really made for an intimidating picture, slicing through the air with unreasonable speed. In contrast, the gray longsword had taken to glowing a violet sheen, like a coat covering the blade.

He knew then, that Reyna was trying to use her power to control Pallas' weapon. Telumkinesis, the manipulation of weaponry. Most children of war gods were gifted to some extent with the ability, though not all of them could use it as efficiently as Reyna could. She could curse or bless weapons, turn them to wood or plastic, even move them according to her desires. Just another reason why she was one of the scariest people to fight against.

Even with Reyna's attempts, however, it seemed that Pallas was still exerting complete control.

Lady Vesta, despite her more petite design, was terrifying in her attack. She was a whirlwind of fire and metal and cloth, barely staying still. Her feet were hidden by her robes, though the blazing ferocity belied no discomfort or fear of stumbling.

For the first thirty seconds of combat—during which Jason counted at least eighty attacks from both parties—Pallas had seemed to be severely outmatched or unprepared to face the firecracker of a goddess.

He'd been injured more during that timespan than the following three minutes of their battle. Somehow, he had acclimated to the incredible aggression that Lady Vesta displayed. When he'd done so, his stance switched from defensive to offensive, pushing back to force a stalemate.

The Titan sported several small wounds around his armpits and elbows. His armor had also been cut open in a few places across his torso, arms, and legs, giving Jason a good idea of how dangerous the scythe really was.

As much as he wanted to call down another bolt of lightning, he didn't want to hit Lady Vesta by accident.

Not only did it take a while to focus his power, once he'd done the necessary prep-work, the lighting was released in an instant.

He couldn't hold it in, basically, making it situational.

Still, he observed the fight intently, looking for a good chance to jump in and help. He didn't want to leave the job solely for the goddess.

Both blurs stopped moving, clashing their weapons, locked in a trial of strength.

Pallas easily pushed Lady Vesta away, his body heaving with low gasps. He must have been tired after fighting such an intense opponent.

"You can't compete with me," the Titan said between his labored breaths. "You don't have the prowess. The skill. Not surprising. You're a pacifist at heart. Not worth my king's time. You will fall before me."

Her response was to nod a few times. "You're right. I don't have the skill in this form of combat to defeat you. As you stated, it simply isn't what I excel at. That said, as you are now, I'm confident in my own victory. Give my regards to Hecate, by the way, for creating such an intricate barrier to keep mortals away. Very impressive. We really shouldn't have treated her so poorly for her to join you."

"Don't change the subject!" Pallas growled. "And don't underestimate me. Your hubris will force your fall."

" _My_ hubris?" She sounded astonished. "Are you not occupying another part of your conscience against Perseus as we speak? You've weakened yourself, even when you face another divine being. What foolishness compelled you to do something so asinine? I would argue that your own hubris will lead to victory on the gods' part."

"I will crush the boy, then bring his head back to uncle for him to bear witness to his lapse. You can suffer the same fate!"

The goddess frowned. "While I may not be your match in weapon-play, I'm surprised at your confidence. I've held you for this long, haven't I? All due to your preoccupation with fighting Perseus. He must really be distracting you, for your abilities to have suffered the way they have."

Pallas screamed and attacked her again, his sword coming down onto her scythe. When the blades met, a blast of crimson power ripped free of his weapon.

A bright scarlet explosion rocked Liberty Square.

Jason looked away for a moment, covering his face from the scalding winds that buffeted him. He'd almost fallen due to the tremor but kept his footing in the end. Reyna hadn't been so lucky and accepted his hand when he offered it to pick herself up.

"He's too powerful for me to curse his sword. Everything I try… he just flicks it off so casually," she muttered, disheartened at the acknowledgment. "I never figured the gap was so huge. Still, I'm able to slow it down. Barely, but he isn't swinging as hard or fast as he normally would be able to."

When he looked back, Lady Vesta was nursing a long gash on her ribs. The wound wept gold ichor, which spewed at an alarming rate.

The goddess grimaced and let the scythe disappear. She lifted her free hand, several orbs of fire swirling into existence around her head. With a flick, she sent them toward her foe.

Gray steel covered in purple was already moving, cutting through each fireball before they could connect. As the sword passed, the orbs broke apart like glass, sprinkling the ground and igniting what they touched.

Lady Vesta continued to send ranged bouts of fire at the Titan, switching from individual spheres to large streams.

Jason watched closely.

He caught sight of the goddess glancing his way. Their eyes met for a second, then she gave him a small nod in Pallas' direction.

The meaning of her gesture wasn't lost on him. Shaking his arms a few times, he lifted Ivlivs. There was still a charge in the air from the last time he'd called on his lightning. It lingered steadily, sending pinpricks down his spine when he focused on the thought of electricity.

A part of him wanted to stop. To cancel his preparations and just focus on fighting the Titan in a more direct manner. Never before had he tried to use so much power in a single strike, which meant he was treading unfamiliar waters.

There was a good reason for his caution, too, he liked to think. Lightning was unpredictable, really. More so when it was him summoning it. He always had to keep his control steady and tight like a vice. If he didn't he could slip. A mistake on that level would spell disaster. People around him were always in danger when he used his power.

He didn't want to hurt them. He didn't want to kill them. He just couldn't lose any more friends; certainly not by his own hand.

Those justifications, though, weren't applicable given his predicament. He'd already taken a step and all he needed to do now was take a few more. He knew that if he didn't stop the Titan with his next bolt, their quest might end there. It would end in failure—a failure to his friends, family, Lupa, Rome, and the fallen soldiers whose spirit still lived on through him.

So the only acceptable outcome was to throw his hang-ups to the wind and move past them. He needed to use his power.

Concentrated as he was, he still hadn't stopped watching the battle between gods.

Pallas was ducking and dodging, avoiding most of the fire that came his way, while blasting whatever he couldn't evade. He would often try to close the distance between him and Lady Vesta, only to be forced back by spiraling tendrils of flame.

Thunder rumbled again as Jason connected with Jupiter's domain. Only a few more seconds and lightning would definitely strike twice if he had any say in the matter.

The sound, however, attracted the Titan's attention. His head whipped to where Jason stood, glowing eyeholes cutting the air as they went.

Everything else seemed to wash away when Pallas' scowl locked onto him. His breath hitched in his throat when the world went dark around him. Even the heat that once surrounded him had bled away, leaving him with a shiver that set deep into his chest, where frost formed around each lung.

In the space of a single thought, Pallas had changed direction, breaking the cement as he pushed off with his foot.

They were face-to-face before he knew it, longsword coming down from above.

Jason blinked.

Suddenly, Reyna was there, the first several inches of her sword buried deep into Pallas' armpit. Due to the momentum she carried, they were both sent sprawling to the ground, their bodies tumbling over one another.

It was their enemy who—despite his new injury—leaped up first. Reyna was pulled up by a clenched hand around her arm.

She was lifted up and around before being thrown down on the pavement. When she slammed into the unforgiving stone a startled gasp left her lips, followed by a croak of agony.

An armored foot crashed down on her upper abdomen, stomping with enough strength to force a strangled cry of pain from his friend.

Fire erupted from the Titan's back, engulfing his entire torso in a contained inferno. He bellowed in defiance, snuffing the flames as he dodged another fireball aimed at his chest. The longsword came up just in time to parry a burning scythe ready to separate his head from his shoulders.

Lady Vesta had returned to close quarters, yanking her weapon back and swinging it up. She pushed their foe away from Reyna's curled form. Now as she fought again, her assault was a mix of blade and torrents of fire.

A second peal of booming thunder reverberated across the sky, small flashes of bright light illuminating the dark clouds.

Jason clenched his jaw as he felt the energy scream at him to release it. The tingling in his spine spread to his arms, slithering down to his legs a few seconds later.

He couldn't hold it anymore.

It needed to be let loose, but he didn't want to risk hitting the goddess if he were to aim poorly. He'd made this one stronger than the last, twice, maybe thrice so, in fact. If a bolt like that were to hit even a god, he doubted they'd be walking away without a scratch.

Then again, he wouldn't be walking for a while afterward either. He was exhausted.

"Lady Vesta!" he warned as loud as he could, realizing that whether he wanted it or not, the power would escape his control.

Thankfully, his aunt seemed to understand the situation perfectly. She was already leaping back, having knocked Pallas back a few feet by a well-placed punt with the flat of her scythe's blade.

The Titan stumbled but caught himself before Lady Vesta could move too far from him.

His hand reached out to grab her, then pulled back to slam palm-first against his damaged cuirass, not having taken hold of the goddess. He doubled over and coughed violently.

"How...?! Uncle... why...?"

A sparkle of silver was all Jason saw before the lightning ripped itself free and speared its target.

Jason wasn't able to glance away in time, his vision dancing and his head pounding from the deafening crack. His legs buckled, forcing him to brace himself with his hands against the ground while he wheezed from the exertion.

Steadying his upper body, he took a moment to regain his sight, looking at where his bolt had fallen. He frowned.

Where Pallas once stood, only an empty crater of slag remained. If he'd missed, then his usefulness in the fight had ended. It was over for him and the rest would fall to Lady Vesta's shoulders.

His aunt's voice brought him out of the panic that was taking hold.

"The end of a Titan. No closure, no parting words, nothing that would even signify remorse or a sense of catharsis," she sighed and let her scythe flicker away. "I suppose we must all be at peace with ourselves in times of war, then. Our lives may well be taken any day, against any opponent. Stories stopped short and never finished. Or maybe stories long overdue to be put to rest."

During her small monologue, she'd walked to where Reyna still writhed and knelt down. Her hands gently pried Reyna's away and pressed against where Pallas had stomped.

"Several of your lower ribs are broken," Lady Vesta explained softly, her hands glowing a faint orange. "I'll do what I can… but you'll understand if I can't completely heal you. I'm close to pushing my self-imposed limits of aid." She turned to Jason and gave him a small nod. "She'll need ambrosia and nectar. Her gallbladder and stomach have also ruptured, so don't force any unnecessary movements."

Jason bit his lip and glanced through Liberty Square. "There's some nectar in the car. And unicorn elixir. Is she gonna be okay?"

"She'll be fine as long as she's given some divine healing."

He let go of the breath he'd been holding in. "Good."

The goddess tilted her head and stared at the sky. "Perseus will also recover, though, it'll be up to you to finish the quest. He's suffered some ghastly wounds. He may never be free of the reminders of his close brush with death and the toll of challenging a Titan. I'm the sole reason he'll live, truth be told."

Those weren't the reassuring words he'd been hoping for. "That's right, you said something about Pallas' conscience being split. Percy was fighting him alone?"

"He was. As you know, gods can be in multiple places at once, which essentially weakens them. When assuming their divine form, deities gather their conscience, giving access to their full power. Pallas was already substantially weakened, no doubt having recently reformed," she said, looking back down when Reyna's face relaxed. "Make no mistake, I am not the strongest of my siblings. Jupiter, Neptune, Pluto, Juno, and Ceres are all a notch above me.

"Pallas lost because of his hubris, as is the case with most powerful foes. He thought himself capable of fighting on two fronts without access to all of his power. Obviously, that wasn't the case. Perseus defeated him, which distracted him long enough for your lightning to deal the finishing blow."

Jason turned himself so that he could sit down. His body still felt heavy, like each limb was filled with lead. Still, though, he knew the weighted feeling would pass. He couldn't imagine what both his friends were going through.

With a soft mumble, Lady Vesta stood and raised a hand to the wound on her side. "Your friends will live, and I've done my part. My Greek counterpart hasn't fought for ages and greatly dislikes violence unless it's absolutely unavoidable. She wouldn't have willingly fought. With that, I'll take my leave, nephew. No doubt, Jupiter will have questions as to why I gave you so much help."

Smiling, he gave a respectful bow of his head, averting his eyes knowing that she was about to teleport. "Thank you, Lady Vesta, for the help. I know that you can't help as much as you'd like, considering Necessitas and her rules. Still, though, we couldn't have done it without you."

From the corner of his vision, he saw her give a small wave before flashing away, leaving him to care for Reyna on his own.

 **[[AaMT]]**

Perseus wasn't sure what to make of the Titan. An enigmatic charisma seemed to naturally exude itself from where he stood, massive zweihänder pointed threateningly or no. If he weren't so keen on keeping his head attached to the rest of his body, he may have thought Pallas' declaration to be a guarantee.

Yes, he was sure that in many other scenarios, his opponent would make a great general.

"Did you just call me a spawn? I don't remember bonding with K7-Leetha at any point, so maybe you got your facts wrong. I forgive you, though. Common mistake. I cut a spooky figure."

The eyes of Pallas' mask began to glow; oddly opalescent with red dominating most of the dazzling color. Eventually, the shading settled on a deep crimson like the plume of his helmet and the cloth beneath his armor.

"Enough of your incessant chatter. I will end you here, even if it goes against my king's orders," said Pallas. He twisted himself around in a full circle, sword swinging with him.

Perseus felt the swell of power, invisible and untraceable to all but a select few. It burgeoned from its confines in _the aether_ , coming free and expelling its force in a conical manner. He tracked the mass of energy and thrust his spear forward with a grunt, doing his best to imitate Pallas' push.

His own crest of Titanic Energy ran loose from his body, racing forward to meet its counterpart.

The result was less violent than he'd expected. Their attacks collided, then ceased to be, vanishing within the blink of an eye. There weren't explosions, alchemical reactions, or space-time warping catastrophes. One second they were real and the next they'd disappeared, taking any trace into the void.

Though Perseus wanted to lament the lackluster outcome of their clashing powers, Pallas was already moving. With them being so close, it didn't take long for them to engage each other.

Each blow from the Titan came faster than he'd ever seen. Mithras was fast, inhumanly so, but Pallas was something else. Apparently, he really _had_ been holding back during their exchange in Liberty Square.

' _Going against his king's orders. Iapetus recommending my death and not my capture. So we were going to be taken prisoner. Kronos wanted us alive, which tied Pallas' hands. Now that he's determined to kill me, though… Fuck.'_

Something ached in his chest at knowing his father was willing to see him dead. It was dull, though, and hardly worth his time to ponder. There wasn't anything between them anyway, so he chose to ignore the sliver of frustration and focus on his fight.

Perseus avoided most of the opening salvo of strikes, his mind racing to find the best route out of the flurry of metal that was thrown his way. Each swing the Titan made was barely more than a blur of motion, and with so many of them coming from so many angles, dodging was a tall order.

Impetus grazed the greatsword a few times to throw it off course, only to be knocked away each time. His hands and arms stung at the vibrations sent through the spear with every connection. There was no way he could match that kind of strength without Titanic Energy to help.

Soon, he chose not to even bother blocking or parrying. Most of what he tried was countered anyway, which made the movements on his part a waste of energy. Instead, he kept his weight on the balls of his feet and tightened the muscles in his abdomen. If he couldn't use his strength, then he'd have to use his dexterity and hope that eventually Pallas would slip.

Impetus shrank, reverting to its toothpick state and falling back into his mouth with practiced ease. The extra weight and the length of his spear would actually work against him given what he was trying to do. Stashing it was the only good option.

Pallas didn't seem to care what he did, the greatsword never losing steam in its steady encroachment on his personal space. It flew at him at a frightening pace. He could almost hear as it slashed the air, a shrill shriek that relentlessly pursued him wherever he went. More lacerations made their home on his body, his agility not quite up to the standard that Pallas set.

Sweat slicked his skin, a byproduct of his exertion just like the aching in his lungs and body. The battlefield was hot. Stifling. Dark, too, given the thick clouds that still swirled overhead. The burning rock that fell helped make the atmosphere more sinister than it already was.

When he shifted to the left, Pallas' knee was there to met his face.

Just before contact, he brought his hand up and caught the knee. Perseus shifted back and knocked the sword away with the flat of his palm, sliding through another series of blows a second later. His left hand shot out and let go of a _conflagration_ with enough volume to fill a swimming pool.

The Titan brought his sword up and cleaved through the mass of flames, dispelling the attack into the surrounding area.

Perseus glared. He could appreciate how hellish the scene must have looked. If a painter looked at them from afar, no doubt a masterpiece would surface within the week. Maybe it would even go to the Louvre, placed right next to the Mona Lisa in a neat gilded frame.

Their battle would encapsulate the struggle of man against an insurmountable obstacle. A mountain that couldn't be moved, struggle as humans might. A block, barrier, hurdle, bar, snag—be it called as it may that was titanic in size.

Perseus figured that if the battle _were_ to be painted, it might be some bastardized cross between _The Face of War_ and _The Persistence of Memory_ by Salvador Dali.

True, neither of those paintings really gave a sense of the symbolic struggle he was thinking of, but both appropriately reflected how surreal the whole fight felt. There was a certain hopelessness to the whole damn thing. A certain despair that screamed at him to give up and accept his death. It would probably be painless for the most part. Decapitation couldn't actually hurt that much, right?

With a sigh, he swerved to the side and threw himself down to keep himself in one piece. He pushed his hands out and somersaulted, another move in his continued retreat. It was a strenuous thing, to face the Titan at all times. Strenuous and necessary.

Turning his back was just asking to be impaled. He needed to keep eyes on Pallas.

More pressingly, he needed to force an error from his divine cousin. The best way to do that was make Pallas capitalize and commit to punishing a fake blunder. Then, when there was no way for him to stop, the tables would be turned.

' _What a risky proposition. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, though. Now let's see.'_

A downed ghoul's corpse just a few feet to the side was all the inspiration he needed. His brain scrambled to piece together the plan. Nothing fancy. No need to even use his powers for set-up. Just some good timing and a dash of courage to actually try something that had the potential to go _really_ wrong if he flubbed it.

He moved toward the dead soldier, still weaving his way through an onslaught of stabs and swings. Doing his best to remember where the ghoul was, he readied himself for the moment. If he glanced down, Pallas might catch on.

His breathing picked up.

Just another step and…

His foot rolled over the corpse's arm, shifting his balance and tripping him. With wide eyes, he looked at Pallas, who was already taking advantage of the bad positioning and poor awareness.

The zweihänder came around for the umpteenth time. It was ready to cut him in half, from the chest up, like it had tried to do already. This time, though, it was higher than those other attempts. Maybe a couple of inches at most, and just a hair slower than before. A barely noticeable aura of purple lingered on the greatsword.

An attack made like that by the Titan of Warfare could only be called… cathartic.

It was the mistake he'd been waiting for. No, it was the mistake he'd created.

Such a beautifully imperfect strike—Perseus would make sure that Pallas could do nothing but regret the sloppiness; completely and utterly.

Some kind of grin formed on his face. Maybe it was one of relished victory. Or it could have been predatory. He didn't know. All he felt was how it twisted his lips.

Without wasting another breath, he swiveled and dropped, acting like a dense stone in water. His right hand scooped up the sword half-hidden in silver cinders as he turned and leaped into Pallas' guard. Pulses of Titanic Energy in several places across his back helped propel him faster than normal; hurting and helping him at the same time with their powerful pushes.

His foe's blade had already passed overhead by the time Perseus drove his own procured sword up and through an unarmored elbow. When the retaliation came, he'd already spun out of the way to Pallas' other side, leaving the charred sword in place.

Perseus slammed his clenched fist against the Titan's ribs, _pushing_ his stamina out of his body with as much dynamism that he could muster.

A burst of Titanic Energy detonated from his already damaged left hand. He hadn't given it a definite shape or direction, more just wanting to expel a massive amount in a single swoop. Therefore, not only was Pallas blown clean off his feet; Perseus was also sent hurtling backward, though still upright.

Impetus shimmered and sprang to life in his good hand—the one that wasn't bleeding and throbbing with an extremely familiar pain—before its spearhead buried itself in the ground. He didn't know if doing so would actually slow him down, but it helped stabilize his balance.

He came to a slow stop and took a few rasping gasps. Grimacing, he did his damnedest to ignore the agony, watching as his enemy picked himself up.

A rugged crater had indented itself into the bronze armor of Pallas' cuirass from the explosive pressure applied to it, roughly the size of a soccer ball.

"You… you insolent, lowly, pitiful abomination!" the Titan's voice was nothing short of apoplectic. He swung his sword, releasing a crimson crescent of buzzing energy.

With a grunt, Perseus rolled under the energy and came up with his arm cocked back. Heaving his body, he chucked the spear as hard as he could, a bit of extra _push_ applied the launch when it left his fingers.

Not a second later, Othisi's long middle blade buried itself in Pallas' chest, high and left of his sternum.

The Titan reeled, grinding his feet into the dirt. He'd managed to avoid a normally lethal blow by moving just when Impetus was about to reach his heart. Silently, Perseus congratulated his opponent for doing so.

"Any chance I could… uh… get that back from you?" he asked, hoping that maybe some sense of misguided honor would see his spear returned.

Unfortunately, his answer came in the form of Impetus flying off into the horde of ghouls, lost to his eyes among the masses of motionless sentinels. Pallas had thrown it away.

While disappointing, Perseus could understand the reasoning. He'd quipped mostly to occupy his mind and keep it from dwelling on just how much his left hand was _torturing_ him with endless pain. Better to continue, then, since he'd thought about it again.

"I mean, that's fair too. So how about a good ol' wrestling match instead? You get rid of your sword and we'll duke it out like they did in ye olde Greece. Hey, you'd even have the advantage, since you probably weigh about a hundred pounds more than I do."

Pallas disappointed him once again. He pushed off and attacked with a silent fury that Perseus could feel poisoning the air. Heavy rage weighed on his shoulders, making it difficult to even stand straight under its burden. Sweat poured from his scalp, running down his face in what felt to be grand rivers.

"Woah Nelly!" He jumped to the side, watching as the sword, now glowing crimson, came down a few inches away from his face. Ready to make another snap movement, he was surprised when red energy erupted from where the blade hit the ground.

The explosion rocked the island. His body, being right next to its source, was hit full force by the crackling power, sending him far. He skid to a painful stop, hopping to his feet when an instinctual urge to move took hold.

He flowed around the descending greatsword, planting his feet once he was behind Pallas. He _pushed_ and punched at the same time, stance set firm like Reyna had shown him. His fist connected as a more directed wave of Titanic Energy crushed the bronze armor like an aluminum can.

There was a second of disbelief when the Titan righted himself in mid-air, completing a flip and landing in a crouch. A line of crimson energy raced from his sword, cutting a trench into the earth.

Perseus dodged.

The entire gouged section of rock exploded when he did so, though he'd gotten far enough to avoid the worst of it.

When the light died, his vision was filled with the immovable scowl of Pallas' mask.

Sheer… well, agony wasn't even the right word. It went further than that. It was truly, undoubtedly, the single worst sensation he had ever experience in his seventeen years. There really _weren't_ words to describe it. None of them did justice. They just _couldn't_.

The embodiment— _epitome_ —of suffering had slid itself into his body, entering and exiting the left side of his pelvic area, where it met with the abdominal cavity. Nothing else mattered anymore. Not a single worry or problem seemed to weigh on his mind. He couldn't actually remember much of anything. All he knew was that it _hurt_.

It hurt.

 _It hurt a lot._

A crack of thunder rang in the distance.

He managed to glance at the greatsword, hissing and spitting its incandescent power from where it was tucked. Pallas shoved forward, kicking his feet from under him and pinning him to the ground below.

There was a moment where the pain was abated and in which he could relax. Then, it all came back a thousandfold. All he could instinctively do was scream at the _horrid_ fizzling that gnawed through his mental fortitude.

Perseus screamed because there wasn't a point in doing anything else. His throat went raw after the first few seconds. The unbearable urge to throw up nearly overrode his desire to scream but couldn't quite rise far enough. Instead, he was left with growing darkness that dotted his vision.

He was going to die. There wasn't a damn thing he could do about it either. It was all just a hazy mess; thinking, screaming, agonizing, living-breathing-aching-worrying-dying—

 _Rattling, shaking, creaking._

 **K** i _L **L**!_ ** _hI_** _M_ **Y O _u f_** **O** O ** _l_** _!_ ** _Fi_ R _e…_** **BURN HIM. Your hand.** _Save yourself. _**_What ha_ _PP_ _ens_ _NEXT!_ _is for_ _YOU!_ _al_ _ON_ _e to decide._** _Live._ **Or.** **DIE!**

 _Live._ **DIE!**

 _Live._ **DIE!**

 **CHOOSE!** **Choose.** _Choose._

The words attached themselves like a leech into his mind. Through everything else, they remained a constant companion that bounced in his skull like a stray beach ball. The voices were amazingly distinguishable, each a fully distinct flavor that differed vastly from the ones previous and after.

A tone dripping with vitriol and raw hatred, so caustic that it could have eroded rock with a whisper, even though it spoke in nothing but a shout.

The sound of impassive impartiality, underscored by hints of superiority and condescension.

Sweet caresses that gently drifted through the air, nothing but a warm wind in an otherwise desolate background, giving life and layered conscientiousness to the instinctual and the realistic.

 _Live._

He didn't want to die. He really just didn't want to die yet. What was there beyond death, anyway? Elysium? What would he do in a place like that? Would he even get into Elysium acting the way he had up until then? Was there a place for him in a land that housed the righteous and the heroic?

No. There wasn't, was there? So the only option for him was to keep living. Dying? He couldn't do something so stupid. Living was all that was left. Living.

 **LIVE! LIVE! LIVE! LIVE FOR ME AND FATTEN YOURSELF FOR THE SLAUGHTER!**

 **Live then. We'll meet soon, where freedom will be given to one of us.**

 _Live for yourself and for those you care about. When you see them, remember to appreciate the life you lead. Give them your love; they will return it._

Fire came to him, dredged from the deepest, driest, hottest place that he could hope to reach. It rose like a bloated and distended amalgamation of burning instincts. Every desire he could pull from the muck that filled him, bright and flaming, a star's worth of heat, swam into his waiting hand.

He opened his eyes and jammed his fist through the vertical slit in Pallas' armor where Impetus had struck. There was hardly any resistance from the bronze, which had already been compromised. His hand tore into the Titan's chest, ensconced in a wreath of silver fire.

They screamed together, a noise almost drowned by a second boom of thunder overhead.

Perseus, fighting to live, gave up on keeping any form of control on his power. He felt the true quintessence of fire leaped from his pores and created a conflagration of endless starving greed. It only took an instant for hell to claw through his skin, tissue, and blood.

And it only took an instant for Pallas to catch alight. From the inside out, he burned, pulling back from the ground and from Perseus' hand both the same. There was a final scream of horrid agony and deep-seated fear before a massive bolt of lightning speared down somewhere behind the bridge.

It was as it the world had stopped moving.

The sword fell first, clattering on the dirt with a dull ring and bringing time back.

Pallas stumbled to the side and dropped to a knee. He then toppled, crashing down like a collapsing building; a mountain having been torn down from the inside.

From where he lay, Perseus kept staring at the crumbled monolith. Shivers constantly racked his body, harsh tremors that forced him to grit his teeth. His throat was sore and though he'd stopped his screams, they still lingered somewhere in his chest and mouth, ready to pick up against his will.

Several broken gasps escaped him, spit flying from his mouth and landing on his chin and cheek.

The pain had started to flare again, this time it was just everywhere. He couldn't so much as move his eyes without iron pokers impaling the nerves around his temples.

Without warning, something soothing and cool pressed against his lower abdomen. His head jerked, sending white-hot torture lancing into his spine and neck.

A little girl was next to him, on her knees, pressing both her hands to the grievous wound by his pelvis. Scanning his surroundings, he realized that the ghoulish soldiers were gone, as were the dark clouds above the island and the shower of burning rocks.

"Hes-"

She gave him a smile so forced that it physically looked to ache. "Shhhh. Don't talk. It's over, cousin. You did it. Pallas is gone, defeated. Dead."

He glanced at her hands.

"I'm doing my best. It's… a touchy situation. Even Apollo would be hard-pressed to help in this scenario. I promise, though, that you'll make it through this. I can't say you'll be able to live without consequence, however. Pallas' power did extensive damage to your body." Her voice was touched by sympathy and concern. "Your hand… that's what I'm most worried about. Using your own ability to that extent... expect a long recovery period. Even then, you may never regain full functionality."

His eyes went to the left.

It was unrecognizable as what he'd come to know. Red, black, white, pink. He couldn't tell what was skin, what was tissue, and what was bone. It looked closer to a slab of half-cooked beef than a hand.

He wanted to vomit after seeing the hunk of charred meat; not that he actually did.

"Jason is the only one fit to complete the quest," Hestia said, bringing his attention back to her tired face. She looked unwell but managed a much more genuine smile. "Be that as it may, you've done more than enough. The quest is practically complete. New Rome will be far more equipped to handle the upcoming battles. It's difficult to say an exact number, but your actions here will undoubtedly save countless lives in the future."

She removed a blood-soaked hand from his gut and placed it on his heart. "Perseus Jackson is, and shall forever be remembered as, a hero. Today, my dear cousin, a legend has been born; one that involves a young man moving a mountain."

* * *

 **AN: Despite Hestia being the last Olympian, I opted to make it so that Vesta was a bit more defensive toward both Rome and her family. Seems to make sense, since most Roman gods are more militaristic in HoO. Pallas is straight dead my peeps. We ain't seeing him again. Consequences for Percy trying to overpower his opponent instead of using his brain. He'll be changing that way of fighting in the future out of necessity, since he only has so many limbs to sacrifice. Bigger hints at the end game. And Jason didn't fly, with good reason too.**

 **If this were a novel, I'd probably have split this chapter, put in an epilogue, then called it the end of the book. I guess we can call it the end of the first story arc.**

 **Fun Fact: Over the twelve days I spent writing this, I chose to listen to the same three songs on repeat to set the mood whenever I sat down to type. _The Doomed_ by A Perfect Circle, _Hope of Morning_ by Icon for Hire, and _Can You Feel My Heart_ by Bring Me The Horizon. It definitely took its toll. Why did I share that, you may ask. It's because, dear reader, I wanted to, and these AN's are a place for me to share. **


	15. Close Encounters of the Three-of-a-kind

**_Review Response-_**

 **New Guy: Sure thing! Glad you found it worth the read. I'm trying to make the interplay between Apollyon and Percy as interesting as I can, so it's great to hear that you find it so. Thanks for the feedback!**

 **xSkiesOfBlue11: I tried to make the ending about as much of a resolution as I could without bloating it. Thanks for the review!**

 **Malosi06: Nah, Apollyon doesn't want a better fight. He has other reasons for wanting Percy alive and strong. The healing will be discussed soon. It won't be the perfect solution, though, and won't be able to heal everything he suffers from.**

 **Jet: Thanks! We'll be covering the consequences soon enough. I do still have motivation here. I'm having a good time writing this story, and hopefully I continue to do so.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own characters, source, yadda yadda. I own the laptop I typed this on, though. Pretty neat.**

* * *

15\. Close Encounters of the Three-of-a-kind

* * *

"The last thing we should touch on is the upcoming praetor election."

Jason looked up from the papers detailing weapon distributions among the retired legionnaires in New Rome. He'd already known the subject was bound to be brought up. With only a week until the Feast of Fortuna, there was hardly any time left for campaigning.

Well, not that he or Reyna had needed to do anything of the sort. Heck, after the rumors had gotten out that Percy fought a Titan and not only lived but actively defeated said enemy, Jason wouldn't have doubted he could've gotten support for the praetorship.

Some people went as far to declare the trio as the second coming of Julius Caesar, Pompey, and Crassus. Most of the time the comparison was made in good faith, considering that the First Triumvirate was a trio made of well-respected generals and politicians.

There were, of course, detractors to the parallels drawn pointed to the First Triumvirate as a harbinger of revolution and collapse. Technically, that wasn't true, since the Roman Republic was well on its way to reform or destruction by the time Crassus died and left Pompey and Caesar to fight for control.

Still, Jason could understand how campers managed to see the similarities. He was often likened to Caesar, Reyna to Crassus, and Percy to Pompey. Which meant… if history repeated itself and Reyna were to die while launching an attack on the ancient Parthian Empire, then he and Percy were destined to fight for the right to become a dictator. A few years later, Jason himself would be assassinated by a group of people led by a comrade he'd once granted amnesty to after the decisive battle in which his faction won over Percy's faction; the very same battle where Percy would die.

' _Hm. This all hinges on whether or not the Parthians return and if Reyna goes off to war against them. So, slim chances.'_ He hummed noncommittally, shaking his head with a rueful chuckle at the tangent. Percy's mannerisms had been rubbing off on him too much.

"What's there to talk about?" Victor asked, steepling his hands in front of his mouth. "I think we all know the favorites to win this go 'round are Jason and Reyna. The Second is mostly behind them, too, if you can imagine."

Lyle nodded in agreement with his co-centurion. "True. I don't think I've heard a single person saying they would vote for anybody else. We should just call this meeting to an end already. I have a few patients waiting on me."

Michael lowered his sunglasses and gave Lyle a cursory glance. "Don't let us keep you from them. I think everybody here is alright with you leaving early if its to go to the clinics."

A snort from Octavian drew the attention of each centurion. "Yes, go on Lyle. We won't need a contribution from somebody of your particular expertise. I only wanted to discuss the fact that we should re-think allowing both centurions from the Fifth to run at the same time. History has taught us that alliances, especially those not made public, can have dangerous consequences for the unaware."

"Oh fuck off, Octavian," Tabitha scoffed and crossed her arms. "You know Jason and Reyna aren't planning a coup or some stupid shit like that. You just want the position for yourself, greedy bastard."

"I have Rome's best interest at heart! Don't question my goals. I want to see Camp Jupiter prosper. I want this place to be an even better sanctuary not just for us, but for the people who come through here later too," the augur argued. He sat up in his chair. "I have no problems with Jason or Reyna alone. I admit that they are fantastic fighters and good leaders, however, therein lies another problem. We should strike a balance between the two praetors. One for the people and one for the military."

Jason frowned at that. He looked at Reyna, finding her to still be flipping through the three-page-long list of retired legionnaires who would be called back into service. She seemed uninterested in the proceedings, a sentiment he reciprocated. They'd already been sitting in the principia for well over three hours. He was ready to go home.

Or rather, back to the barracks so that he could relax for a bit. Summer break had already started for most schools in the area, meaning the natural influx of half-bloods both old and new. With new campers, came more responsibilities for him as a centurion, especially as the veteran officer of the Fifth, where most of the newbies found themselves being placed.

Still, even with it being summer, he counted fewer demigods showing up than usual. Lupa claimed that many children of the minor gods might have been recruited into the Titan army. Such was the nature of impressionable adolescents starved of parental acceptance, according to the goddess.

Again, Jason admired Kronos' strategy for warring against the gods. While nothing major had happened in the month-and-a-half that he'd been back, the escalation toward large-scale conflict was painfully visible. It had gotten to a point where the Senate voted to send hunting parties out to secure their perimeter after scouts reported several monster groups loitering about.

Small skirmishes had already been fought around the greater San Francisco Bay area. Hellhounds at the Oakland Zoo, harpies near the Chabot Space and Science Center, Cyclopes making camp in Wildcat Canyon Regional Park, and snake-women swimming at the Lafayette Reservoir Recreation Area. Those were the largest groups that had been dealt with, though smaller packs of monsters still roamed around, not settling in a single place.

It felt like they were being penned in; herded and surrounded on all sides. He wasn't sure if the monsters could make it through the barrier into Camp Jupiter's valley, though, he wasn't eager to learn through experience.

"I think I'm done for today," Jason said, standing up and slinging his jacket over one shoulder. "If this is all we're gonna talk about, I really have nothing to add. I'm not dropping out of the ballot, though, and I'm not going to take my removal from it quietly without a good reason from the Senate."

Reyna pushed her chair back and followed his lead. "The same goes for me. I'm not in the mood to listen to Octavian anymore. If there's a vote regarding my name being withdrawn from the running, I expect to be present when the Senate sits down for the discussion."

From where he stood, Jason could see the faces of their peers. None seemed disgruntled, with a few actually looking relieved that the discussion had been stopped.

"I'm with Jason. Let's formally end the meeting and get out of this place. Too stuffy for me in here." Michael's voice gave no doubt to his feelings on the topic. Even though he was in the same cohort as Octavian, there wasn't much goodwill between him and the augur.

The other centurions agreed. Soon, everyone was filing out, with Octavian being the only one to stay in his seat, apparently preoccupied with the documents that he'd drafted. His eyes were narrowed and he pointedly ignored the others as they passed by, clenching the papers in his hand tighter than necessary.

Jason recognized that he might not have normally picked up on the anger that Octavian was subtly displaying. Percy's lessons on the art of reading people were probably helping him. He'd be sure to give proper thanks later.

"C'mon, let's go," Reyna interrupted his observations, waiting for him to catch up.

Matching her stride, they left the principia side by side, a bit closer than they would've in the past. He'd noticed a fair shift in her demeanor since their return to camp. It had started almost immediately, in truth, without warning whatsoever.

Sure, he was taken aback at first.

Reyna wasn't one to show much in the way of closeness to anybody. She preferred to keep a certain distance, something she'd held onto since he first met her. Over the years, the miles that separated them were cut to the point that they could have been metaphorical neighbors.

That was where they had been when the quest started. Only a door away—a single knock that would see either of them helping the other.

Now? Well, he might say less than roommates but more than neighbors. He wasn't sure what that was in the real world. Even metaphorically, the comparison was beyond him. It was all pretty confusing when he lingered on the thought for too long. He just couldn't read her that well yet.

"Yo! Reyna, Jason, you got a minute?" Lyle ran up behind them. From behind his blond bangs, he squinted up at the sun. Even though they were under the principia's portico, it was an awfully bright day, so much so that the valley looked a bit white-washed under the sweltering heat.

Jason sighed internally, just wanting to take a small siesta before the war games later that night. "What's up, Lyle?"

"We need to talk about one of my patients. I guess that was one of the reasons I didn't walk out sooner."

"If you need a second opinion, you've come to the wrong place," Jason said with a chuckle. He could set bones and recommend dosages of ambrosia for certain degrees of injuries, which was the extent of his medical knowledge. "What about doctor-patient confidentiality? Thought you were all big on that."

"I still am." The reply came a little heated. "I came to you two because I know that he's your friend and subordinate. I hope you two can talk to him."

Reyna shifted her weight and leaned against the wall. "Who?"

"Look, don't tell him I spilled, okay? He scares me if I'm being honest. Now even more than he did before."

Jason quirked an eyebrow. "Percy? What's wrong with him?" He frowned and ran over the possibilities, concerned. "Are his injuries acting up again? Have you stopped the treatments? Why didn't you come to me sooner if he was in trouble?"

"N-no… it's nothing like that!" Lyle raised his hands defensively.

Reyna stepped forward, her eyes sharp and intent on sending a grim stare. "Out with it. If you're coming to talk to us about it in secret, then it's important. So help me gods, if you chose to slack off with his care I swear..."

"His treatments are still ongoing. Nothing's wrong in that department, I promise. That's not what this is about."

"Then what?" Jason was annoyed at the stalling statements.

Looking distinctly torn between anxious and solemn, Lyle sighed and rubbed his eyes. "He's self-medicating. I mean… I think he is, at least. He hides it well. His nonchalance in our regular check-ups made me believe that he was doing fine. It made me less observant than normal. When he asked if I could prescribe him stronger painkillers than the hydrocodone I'd given him, I honestly didn't think too much about it. I denied him since the next strongest thing we have easily available here in New Rome can be addictive, even when regulated and administered in careful amounts. He seemed to be fine with it, didn't raise a fuss, so I was glad.

"Just the other day, though, I saw him in that new bar that opened on the west side of New Rome. I and a few of my friends were hanging out when I noticed him at the far corner, talking to a girl."

There came a lull in the conversation, slow and with rising tension. He wasn't sure what to make of the information. So far, though, it wasn't anything to be worried about, much less a reason for Lyle to speak directly to them about.

Reyna was the first to speak again after they'd properly digested the news. "A girl?"

Wait, was that really what she'd choose to comment on? Sure, there maybe wasn't much to say, but that of all things?

Lyle scratched his head. "I think she's in your cohort. Uh… black hair to her shoulders, about 'this' tall, probably your age."

"Abby?"

Jason didn't know what to make of that. He hadn't been made aware that Percy and Abigail were friendly enough to go out together. Or even hang out in each others company by themselves, for that matter. The only time he'd seen them interact was during training and occasionally during meals; nothing to get suspicious over.

Then again, suspicion wasn't something he was willing to direct at either of them. They were both his friends and he trusted them. Actually, more Percy than Abby, now that he thought about it. After what they'd been through on their quest to retrieve the weapons… how could they not have become trustworthy comrades?

"What were they doing?" Reyna asked.

Lyle shrugged. "Talking. I was too far to hear anything but they spent most of the time talking. Something I noticed was that both of them went way over their allotted amount of drinks. The waitress was pretty inconspicuous about it, too. If I hadn't been watching so closely, I would've missed a few of the bottles she passed off to them."

"What does this prove?" Jason crossed his arms and leveled his stare at Lyle. "So they smuggled a little extra alcohol? That's it? Not really a big deal from where I stand. Sure, rules are in place for a reason but..."

"Look, I don't have solid, stronger-than-steel evidence that Percy is being irresponsible… just a gut feeling. That day forward, I paid closer attention to him when he dropped by the clinic."

"And?"

"On more than one occasion, his breathing was slower than what I'd call normal. His mouth was dry and he seemed drowsy. Again, I can't say anything for certain, so bear with me if what I'm about to suggest sounds crazy." Lyle met Jason's eyes. "Given what he wanted those weeks back, I may be reaching, but the conclusion I drew was that the symptoms he displayed might have been related to the use of diamorphine."

This time, the silence between the three of them was oppressive. Jason was more than annoyed. For somebody to accuse Percy of something like that. Well, he wasn't even sure what diamorphine was in the first place. Whatever it may have been, he didn't like the sound of it. Just by the way Lyle's face had become serious, shifting from uncertain and nervous, he could tell that there was something more to it than what he knew.

Still, he had noticed that Percy was different. More in the past few weeks than since they returned and then. Those injuries from Pallas hadn't been anything that Jason could have imagined suffering from.

How Percy had managed to get out of bed in the mornings for physical therapy and then still insist on training or doing something other than resting was beyond the scope of imagination. It was unreal. That level of tenacity wasn't something that Jason figured most people had.

Lately, however, Percy had become harder to read.

Why was that?

There must have been some reason. The sudden change in his character, as if somebody had decided to that his previous behavior wasn't quite right for the upcoming events in a story, therefore going through to make small tweaks so there could be better flow in justifications for actions and a way to create plot-driving beats—it was all a bit jarring.

Ah, then again, he'd almost lost his hand. He'd almost died. He came seconds away from leaving them to fight Pallas and finish the quest on their own. That much Percy admitted to them during one of their group dinners in the city. He seemed bitter about it, unsurprisingly.

So yes, there definitely _was_ a cause for the differences in Percy. It was probably substantial. It was probably larger than a mountain if it affected him so thoroughly. It was probably eating him from the inside; haunting him. It was probably an issue that he would never agree to share because of his own pride. It was probably killing him.

Jason gripped his arms tight, trying to relax the scowl that etched itself onto his face during his cogitation—he'd have to thank Percy for expanding his vocabulary, although when could he actually use these kinds of pretentious words except in his own narration.

Wait, was he asking himself rhetorical questions sounding like statements?

' _Great. I'm so worried that I'm starting to get all worked up. Gotta calm down.'_

"What's diamorphine?" he asked, not sure what he was feeling or expecting.

Lyle closed his eyes and backed off, his hands slinking into his pockets. It was a response that bore a ton of non-verbal clues given through the body that Percy had drilled him on.

" _Hands out of direct line of sight."_

" _Shoulders raised."_

" _Arms close to the torso."_

" _Closed eyes."_

" _They're trying to shut themselves away from the world. They're probably anxious and trying to hide something. I really hope you're taking notes, Blue Jay, 'cuz I ain't going over this more than once today. Oh, that rhymed."_

Those lessons really were paying off.

"Lyle." His voice became a warning.

"It's a strong opioid. Highly addictive, too. Its common name is heroin."

 **[[AaMT]]**

"Awww, but why not?"

Percy—he kicked himself mentally for ever letting that nickname spread as much as it had—gave the young girl next to him a small smile. Now that so many people were using it as the primary way to address him, he'd been constantly switching between his two "given" names.

Perseus. What he'd been born to bear, a name borrowed from the hero of old and that had roots stretching back into the time of Titans. It was a name that sounded somber. Who could possibly pronounce it with a jaunty lilt? That name wasn't to be said lightly.

On the other hand, Percy sounded much more affectionate. The ending syllable was soft and rolled off the tongue like a ghost. There was a diminutive nature to the nickname, one that belied the utility it held with its five letters. Through his own experimentation, he'd learned that "Percy" could be said in a variety of ways which differed from one another.

No matter his own thoughts, though, he didn't bother correcting anybody when they'd taken to using the second-given-name-that-wasn't-his-middle.

"I'd rather see Jason and Reyna wearing the purple robes," he said, an easy reply slipping from him. It was genuine enough, too. "They're my friends and I think they'd make for really good praetors."

Naomi shook her head, making her long hair sway with the movement. "You beat a Titan! All alone! Lady Vesta said so herself!"

At least he was getting recognition for nearly dying.

A breeze sprinkled his eyes with dirt from the path they were walking along.

"Yeah, but Jason and Reyna fought Pallas too. It was Jason who finished him off, in the end. And if Reyna hadn't used her power to slow Pallas' sword, I'd have been in deep trouble. It was a group effort." He offered a gentle rebuttal to her insistence. Still, he was glad she was fighting for him so vehemently. It wasn't as if her praise wasn't deserved.

She pouted and looked up at him with an ineffectual glare. Maybe in a few years, after passing her current age of twelve, would a glare like that register to him. Some seconds later, her eyes lit up and she pointed directly at him with a grin. "Aha! You're kinder than either of them. You helped me and Noel against those bullies. You also helped Noel's _girlfriend_ and Jimmy and Monroe."

Percy squinted down at her, holding his chin thoughtfully. Again, she was completely correct in her praise. Once he'd gotten back to camp, it took a few days for him to remember about the former traitors. When they popped into his mind, he decided to ask around and learned that they'd been denied admission to a peer support group in New Rome because of their desertion.

Knowing that he was probably being watched, Percy decided to do a little leg-work and stretch his diplomatic muscle. After a rather lively discussion with the group, in which he'd somehow started a miniature coup d'etat that led to the support group changing leadership peacefully, the five turncoats he'd saved seemed even more indebted to him.

Oh how he relished in knowing that they were so completely under his thumb. He could tell them to jump and they'd ask "how high" in a heartbeat.

There had been other times, though, where he'd thrown nonviolence out the window. He didn't try to make it a common thing, but he'd both started and ended a few brawls on the behalf of his pseudo-beneficiaries. The legion wasn't very willing to overlook desertion. No surprise then, when he'd seen some guys from the Third Cohort harassing Noel.

"Huh, that reminds me," he poked Naomi on the forehead. "Nobody's bullied you recently, right? If someone gives you or your brother trouble-"

"Find you so that you can help," she finished with a wide smile. "You don't have to keep reminding me. There haven't been any bullies like before, but some people still ignore us."

He nodded and looked out from where they stood, halfway up the slope of Temple Hill, thinking of the multitude of other things he'd rather be doing than entertaining a prepubescence child. In the end, the list became too long for him to keep track of.

The most important things were, of course, planning on how to most effectively kill the whatever Titan stood in his way next. His fight with Pallas… well, he'd won— _he always wins_ —but the cost of his victory was so steep, he wouldn't even dare consider paying it again.

A _literal_ arm and leg. He'd rather have deferred that payment. Where were the loan forgiveness programs for those situations? Were the Titans planning on collecting anytime soon?

The topic of Titans had been nothing short of an admitted obsession for him. He studied everything he could about their known lore. Strengths, weaknesses, family, habits, behaviors, favorite breakfast foods; all of it was absolutely a necessity to his knowledge. Much of his time flit away between doing that and his regular duties as a full-fledged legionnaire. When the time came, he'd be prepared to win without crippling himself on his next quest.

It had been just shy of two months since he'd returned back Camp Jupiter with Reyna and Jason. The Feast For Tuna— _Feast of Fortuna_ —was five days away. That same day was also election day, where Jason and Reyna would be given the position of praetor.

He lamented that he'd never been able to use a bit of subterfuge in that regard. The popularity of his centurions had skyrocketed after their successful quest. Hundreds of swords, armor pieces, and even a few dozen Civil War era rifles were part of the abandoned cache hidden inside Fort Sumter.

With so much equipment, it would have been impossible to move it all to camp.

Now, Percy hadn't been there himself to see what happened exactly but he'd been given enough of an explanation. Apparently, Jason, ever the risk-taker, had prayed to Mithras of all people, used logic riddled with fallacy regarding the temple request, then had asked the very same god to help them transport the weapons and armor.

To make a short story even shorter—Mithras had agreed, justifying the assistance by claiming the weapons to be a sacrifice to him through his status as the Patron of Soldiers and God of Arms. That was it. A simple solution coming from _Mithras_.

What a mind-flood.

"Are you okay?"

The girl walking beside him tugged at the fingers of his right hand. Her smaller digits caressed his larger ones in a way he might describe as intimate if she weren't so young. He was pretty sure she had no idea what intimacy even meant in a denotative sense.

Glancing down, he marveled at how white her hair was. Just like her mother, Pax. It really did remind him of the clouds above. Or fresh snow. Or even of clean, sterilized, bleached bone. There was a whiteness to it that felt too intense. Sickeningly bright and pure. A nice white flag that surrendered to the barest hint of taint.

The whitest of objects were under the largest threat to be soiled.

He gave Naomi a smile and grabbed her hand. The girl was inexperienced in all sorts of ways, made obvious by how she averted her eyes and squeezed his palm lightly.

She was infatuated with him. Percy knew that. He'd known for a while.

What a sad, deprived little girl. He honestly just didn't have the willpower to use her affection to his advantage. The thought wasn't appealing. He couldn't even see her as a younger sister figure. The way she always tried to see the best in him, the way she clung to him, the way she absorbed every word as if it was gospel, it was all like a starving man being fed.

As long as he wanted, she would never learn to eat on her own. He would never teach his hungry followers how to fish; then they'd have no use for him. So Percy chose to feed them instead, sustaining their well-being only for a short while before those reliant on him came back for more.

He replied as they reached the first branch of shrines that rested atop the hill, "I'm fine. Just a lot on my mind."

"Why did we come up here?"

"'We'? No no, _I_ came up here. You saw me along the way and decided to tag along. There's a difference."

Naomi seemed to contemplate his words. "I don't think there is. Just because I followed you, that doesn't mean I still didn't walk all the way up the hill. I'm still standing here, next to you, so that means we both came up here."

Percy sighed. Kids were pretty damn annoying. "Wrong interpretation of what I meant. You have no reason to be here apart from hanging around me. My reason is my own. That means we have two different motivations. Don't just go arbitrarily lumping them together like that."

"Arbiter?"

"Halo 2 reference?! Is that really you?!"

"What do two angels have to do with this?"

"It wasn't?! You've lied to me!"

"Well, fighting with those robots was pretty cool. Oh, and using the energy sword while invisible!"

"I knew it was! Don't pretend to not know what I'm talking about when you really do! Hold on a second, who let you play a game like that? It's rated M, which means seventeen or older. Last I checked, you're off of that by a few years."

Naomi grinned slyly. "What Noel doesn't know won't hurt him."

What a sneaky girl. He took it all back. She wasn't pure, she was on her way to becoming the Prince of Lies. Clearly, her soul was destined for the Pit. "You'll be if lucky I don't tell him."

"Hmph." She turned her head away airily, apparently unconcerned with his threat. _This girl..._

Though he'd been genuinely surprised at her unexpected reference, Percy dropped pretenses and let go of the girl's hand. "Alright. You should get going. I've got a meeting to keep. I'm sure you're smart enough to realize why I came all the way here."

It took her a moment. "Oh. I guess I should probably go then. You aren't going on another quest, are you?"

The question by itself was innocent. There were, however, certain overtones that layered her benign inquiry.

And people called him precocious? Compared to her, he was downright dull.

He glanced at his left hand. It still throbbed, like it always did. Day in, day out, day halfway—whatever that meant—there wasn't a cease to the sting.

His constant companion.

A cyclical wound.

He'd hurt himself that day. Damaged and maimed his body to deny the only truth he'd ever forged. A truth he accepted and rejected in equal parts. It was his mortal truth. The truth of his mortality.

A false truth more genuine in his mind than anything he'd ever experienced. That reasoning made accepting mortal fact difficult for him. Maybe he would never accept it again.

Percy stared at the scarred reminder of his fragility. He'd never thought much of how his hands looked before. They were just those things he used to grab other things and to feel the qualities of more things. Their appearance never bothered him.

Now, though, he didn't find his left hand aesthetically pleasing. Splotchy scar tissue covered much of its surface. Its coloration was off, too. On his wrist was a dark gray bracelet, heavy and cold against his ever-warm skin. The design reminded him of chains linked, though they weren't large enough to look exceptionally odd.

"Your limp isn't gone." Naomi stated his wounded status as if she were commenting on the weather.

Sometimes he wondered why kids had no filter. He really didn't need her to point out what was obvious to him. Yes, he knew he still walked with a shuffle to his gait. Why'd she feel like she should bring attention to it? "That's what happens when a Titan stabs you with his sword covered in eldritch energy. Humans don't tend to just recover like nothing ever happened from traumatic events, no matter what other forms of media might say. No, actually, I don't have to tell you this. You already know."

Naomi kept quiet.

Without a word, she stepped up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. He felt her warm breaths pass through his shirt.

Looking down, he sighed and rubbed her back.

"Sorry."

He wasn't actually. Still, he knew that he'd been too harsh. She'd been through some horrible stuff. The girl, just barely reaching puberty, had her own scars; both physical and emotional. After all, she'd been the one to promise never to wear shorts again because of those marks on her calves.

Marks made by the claws of an _Amalgabomination_.

"It's okay. You're right. I just don't like seeing you so hurt."

They parted after nearly a minute. Naomi hadn't been crying. When she looked at him, though, he could see that she might have wanted to. "Do you want me to wait for you?"

Percy raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "No. Go find your brother or something. Make sure he and Vicky aren't doing something you wouldn't approve of."

She gave him a weak smile and lifted her hand in a parting gesture.

When she was out of sight, far from Temple Hill, Percy took Impetus from his mouth and rubbed his face. "That kid of yours is a serious handful."

"That's hard to take as a compliment toward either of us."

Pax stepped out from her shrine. It was a building on the smaller side, not quite as large as Vesta's though not as petite as Neptune's. Made of some nondescript stone, it was rather plain. The only decoration was a pair of hands extending some olive branches engraved above the shrine doors.

She brushed some of her shoulder-length chalky hair out of the way. With that, the clouds vacated and let the sun out again, a widening corridor of light that opened from above. Her head cocked to one side, a single eye open to look at him, hands going to her hips, she smiled.

"You can take it how you want," he said, raising his hand for a vague greeting. "Sometimes its good to be like that. Other times it isn't. We just have to-"

"Know when the best time is for either option. We have to choose how we act given the situation. Is that your line of thinking?" she interrupted him. Somehow, she'd already walked over to him.

Now, she was only inches away from his body. He licked his lips, suddenly feeling a bit more self-conscious about his appearance. With that extra awareness, however, there came no discomfort accompanying it. She was enough to draw the tension out of his muscles.

Tension and pain both faded, replaced by a much more pleasant sensation. A sigh left him before he could stop it. Things seemed to fall nicely into place when she opened the other eye and put both hands behind her back. Everything was right in the world. Or rather, the world had ceased to exist beyond their personal bubble. In that moment, with the top of her body leaning forward ever so slightly, just enough for the light to glint off her eyes, he wanted nothing more than to just stand in that spot for hours.

"Yeah, that's basically it. How's it fair that you're able to finish my sentences?" His voice came more as a breath on the wind. He could feel his heart jump a bit when her hand playfully swatted his elbow.

"Ah. Well, my young padawan, it comes with years of experience," she chortled softly, mirth bubbling to the surface of her tone and expression. There was never a hint of deference when she spoke with him. Pax, the goddess, never failed to meet him as an equal. "See, I'm already a master. A Great Old One. Trillions of years old. Compared to me, you're like the planet Earth, just coming into existence those four billion years back."

He laughed at that, deep from his stomach, though still restrained enough to reassure him that he hadn't been drugged. It hadn't been too long since he'd last done something like that. Only about four days ago, when they had last enjoyed each other's company on the same hill, in fact. His laughter was freeing, likened to what he felt when his powers were let loose.

It scared him, in some ways; while it also thrilled him in other ways. "That's way too long for me to wrap my head around, sorry to say. Hell, I doubt I could even wonder how turning fifty would be like."

"I suppose that's true enough. That's just your nature, isn't it? Burn bright and fast. Here I am, getting all dusty from staying on this big hunk of dirt. I really am a Great Old One."

She was fishing for compliments, he could tell. He knew, though, that it wasn't an act born from insecurity. Rather, it was just her way of giving him the chance to continue their conversation.

"You don't look all that dusty to me. Can't see a single speck, actually." He tilted his head closer, letting his observations lead.

Dark blue jeans. A white blouse under a red button-up shirt. One single piece of adornment—a wood peace sign hanging around her neck. All said, she still played the part of soccer mom very well. Even so, there was no way to say she wasn't every bit as beautiful as a goddess should be.

"Then that just means my eyesight is going bad, eh?"

"Mmm, I don't think that's it either. I've never seen gods wearing glasses." Depending on the style, glasses might look really good on her. He wouldn't mind testing that theory out.

"Aha! Then I must be going senile! It's worse than I ever imagined. I told you that age is finally catching up with me." She pointed directly at him, despair in her voice and a smug grin on her face. Her acting was dubious.

Then again, she didn't typically act with the same energetic momentum all the time. The first couple of times they'd met, for example, were moments where he saw her in a more dignified light. She'd conducted herself as a goddess, with only hints to her non-professional personality.

Was he surprised by the difference?

No. There was no way he could be. He was well aware that there was a very small percentage of people who would ever make a first-impression without a mask on. Pax fell into the majority that slowly took of the mask over time and relative emotional proximity. Besides, nobody was so one-dimensional to adhere to a set of motions.

"You know, you and Naomi behave eerily similar. She gave me that same pose earlier."

Pax grinned, nice and wide. "Ha! I always knew she'd take after me. Guess Noel is going to be busy keeping the boys away from her in a few years time."

With a final nod, the goddess reached out and touched his hand softly. "I'm glad we could finally get the time to do this. The other times we talked over the past couple of months were nice but they weren't very long. It's good that things have finally calmed down enough for our Extra-Super-Awesome-Action-Movie-Marathon-Feat. Arny Schwartz."

"I see your schwartz is as big as mine."

"Wait, do you have Spaceballs too?"

"Of course I do!" He was offended that she'd even have to ask.

"Nice!"

Percy gave a crooked grin. "Should we get going?"

"Let's."

 **[[AaMT]]**

The thought of facing his Mom after not having seen or spoken to her in four months made Percy pretty nervous. Meeting her again shouldn't have been so scary. If he'd just been going back without any baggage, then he doubted his stomach would be doing flips. As it stood, though, he was returning with extra scars and a goddess beside him.

Yeah, there was no way she wouldn't notice. It might take her some time with Pax but she'd notice his left hand almost instantly. Hiding it beneath bandages or a glove would call attention to it, which wouldn't help. So he'd just have to gather his courage and face the music.

Thinking about the last time they'd seen each other, he frowned at recalling that he'd broken his promise to not do anything crazy. He lied to her. Even back then, he knew that he couldn't have possibly kept his word. Percy was just prone to doing crazy things. Crazy things were typically fun.

He was a pretty awful son.

After all… he'd made a false oath. A promise to the one person he cared about more than even himself shouldn't have been sworn without genuine intentions. And he'd gone on to do just that; blatantly lie to her face for no reason.

Pax's voice jerked him from the slow descent into self-loathing he'd started on. "Are you alright?"

He swallowed, noticing that his Mom's car was in the driveway, meaning she was definitely home. That was strange since it was Friday morning. Normally, she'd be at work. There was no way that someone like her would miss work without good reason.

"I dunno." Percy opened the waist-high gate and walked along the pathway. Their front lawn and small rectangular garden spots looked fresh and neatly trimmed. As he climbed the two rounded stone steps he saw the morning paper still on their welcome mat, right in front of the decorative windowed wood door that his Mom paid so much for.

Stooping, he lifted the paper. On the front page, in big, massive, heavy letters was the latest report on a murder. The fifth body found with similar wounds as the previous four, dismembered to some extent…

His hands crumpled the paper as he read further.

The victim had been found on the shoreline of the San Francisco Bay, in Keller Beach early last night. Over the past two months, mutilated bodies had been found, all around the Point Richmond area. After the third corpse, talks of a possible serial killer had escalated.

The Butcher of The Point, news outlets had cried.

Percy was of a different opinion. Labeling the killer as a "butcher" gave it too much credence as a professional. There were more appropriate terms for what was responsible.

"That's awful." Pax was hovering over his shoulder, shaking her head at what was on the page. "What kind of sick person would do this?"

 _Not a person. A monstrosity without regard for anything other than itself._

He didn't say what he thought. Voicing his opinions in this situation wouldn't be beneficial. Instead, he figured it would be just the opposite. A detriment. His words might raise questions as to the knowledge he may have on The Butcher of The Point. Those kinds of questions would be tough to answer without a damn good lie.

"I'll tell Mom to be extra careful around these parts. Even though the murders have all happened on the other side of town… I don't see why the killer wouldn't be able to move at a moment's notice."

That wouldn't be the extent of what he wanted to do, though. He'd have to do something. Hunt the monster down and kill it, something of that measure. Then his Mom would be safe again and he could be free of the worry. Yeah, apparently that was the only option.

 **I'm closer than you think.**

 **LET ME EAT.**

 _Brace yourself._

With a long breath out, he expelled the putrid air that boiled in his lungs. With Pax next to him, it became easier to ignore the nagging thoughts and relax. Just like when he'd fought against Pallas, there rested a certain calmness that gave him confidence. It felt real, even if it was fake. Pax was the cause.

He lifted a hand to the doorbell and pressed. Faintly, he heard the chiming from inside, barely discernible in the sounds of traffic behind him. Their house was by a major road, meaning little security from curious eyes on the front porch or lawn. It was nice that they'd gotten a tall wood fence around the backyard, then, if only to give them a slight sense of privacy.

Vague noises that could have been his mother's voice slowly made their way closer to the front door. She was talking to someone—hurriedly.

More unease swelled in his stomach, adding to what he'd been feeling a few seconds prior. His body wanted to tremble.

From his left wrist, the task of simply holding the bracelet in place became onerous. It grew laden with some kind of inexplicable weight. The cold metal bit into his skin, strangling where his pulse could be felt, freezing the blood as it raced into his marred hand.

He'd come to know the sensation. A reaction stimulated because of his increasing trepidation and anxiety. When he glanced at the object, it only seemed to revel in the attention, humming against his wrist with increasing ardor.

Something was wrong. Not with the bracelet. There was something in the air that felt… _wrong_. His half-blood senses were tingling, warning him that he needed to be on his guard.

Before he could do anything, the door was unlocked and swung open. His eyes were in the middle of traveling back to the front when he was pulled into a warm hug.

Percy smiled. He rested his head on his Mom's shoulder—it was definitely her, nobody else would be as excited to see him. It had been a while since he'd smelled her familiar perfume. With deliberate strokes, he rubbed her spine using his good hand.

When she pulled back, he gulped, smile faltering. She was grabbing his left hand, lifting it to eye level. Her face was a mix of fury and apprehension, bubbling just under a veneer of plastic.

"I hope you have explanations."

' _Holy shit… she's scaring me even with Pax here. She's transcended past the point of a Titan's intimidation. It's like she's staring into my soul. No… even beyond that. She's become one with the Force!'_

Taking a deep breath, Percy nodded. "I do. And you'll get all of them, promise."

He hesitated, then pushed himself against her again, wrapping his arms around his Mom's midsection. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too." She held him tighter than before, squeezing their bodies together in a manner close to harsh.

They took a few more moments together. The feeling of wrongness hadn't subsided yet, though, which made him tenser than he wanted to be during an otherwise nice reunion. Whatever it was that uneased him was strong. Both Impetus and the bracelet were quivering in place, giving him a good sense of the queer atmosphere.

Parting slowly, her attention turned to Pax, who'd remained completely silent throughout the interaction.

"I'm sorry, can I help you?" his Mom asked patiently.

The goddess smiled with benign grace. "It's nice to meet you, Ms. Jackson. Percy tells me a lot of good things about you."

"Percy? You mean Perseus?"

"Yes. Though, we of the Roman persuasion have taken to calling him Percy. One of his friends came up with the nickname and after his exploits… well it's stuck now," Pax nudged him in the ribs.

He frowned and rubbed the area she'd poked.

"Friends? Nickname? Exploits? No, hold on. I'm sorry, you should both come inside. I'm feeling tired just thinking about it all." There was confusion shrouding his Mom's face and voice. Looking closer at her, he could see dark semi-circles under her eyes. Not to mention her somewhat pallid complexion.

She must have noticed his scrutiny. "Just feeling a bit under the weather. Nothing I can't handle."

All he gave was a shrug in return. If that was really all there was to it, then he'd have nothing to worry about. He couldn't help but worry, though, with the strangeness that thickened the area. Even when he followed her into the house, it tagged along—increased, actually—once he crossed the threshold.

Pax stuck close to him, never more than a few steps away.

Stepping back into his house after being gone for so long… the description was left up for grabs. He doubted he could do it justice. Nostalgia and an incredible headiness left him almost short of breath. Familiar sights and smells made him smile. Pictures of him still hung on the walls of the hallway they walked, sequential from times of his childhood to more recent photos. In almost all of them, his mother was there with him, smiling or making a ridiculous pose to embarrass him.

The polished wood floors never creaked underfoot. Some of the walls had been painted a different color, more ivory than eggshell white, making him feel a bit uncomfortable. Coffee must have been recently brewed, it's earth-like acidity permeating the hall, no doubt seeping into the entire first floor.

He disliked coffee. Really, he only drank it for the sake of appearances. If one leaned back in their seat, slowly sipping at dark coffee, relaying an image of calm congeniality, people took that well in mind and simply opted to ignore that perfectly content human playing a fake game.

Some people, at least. Others—typically the parasites of society who couldn't find happiness on their own—tended to gravitate toward people with that kind of aura.

Percy, for one, found those kinds all sorts of fun to socialize with. They often had such amusing views of the world, just like Reyna when they shared their first real conversation over hot chocolate and a bagel. She was such an indecisive little leech.

"I should let you know that I have a guest right now. Or, two if I'm being honest. In a way, I'm glad you came when you did. It really does help with this situation. Still, try to be nice, Perseus."

"I'm the kindest of all beings on this planet, above it, or below it, mother dearest. Can thee not simply hear it in my amazingly modest, humble, bragless tone of voice, that this son of yours knows nothing other than courtesy and compassion. After all, isn't this world meant for the kind and the weak; the blind and the baffled?" His reply was rather sarcastic, hints of his aggrieved sentiment coming out as jilted sardonicism.

"Oh, and a package is waiting in your room. It arrived yesterday." She ignored his comments as they entered the kitchen.

Two people sat at the angled kitchen island, on opposite sides, in their bar stool chairs. Since this room was darker than most others in their house, the hanging bulbs above the island shone down and gave light to an otherwise strange sight.

Percy recognized the first person. Jeff Darling, his physics teacher and one of the coaches for his school's track and field program. The man was a good instructor in both of his chosen areas, easily ranking as one of Percy's favorite teachers. Mr. Darling was always understanding of his dyslexia. Less so of the ADHD when it came to rude remarks but lines had to be drawn.

He didn't know the second person; a young man with short dark hair and Asian features. Maybe it was the nature of his rounded symmetry, but Percy couldn't place an age on the stranger. Maybe a couple of years younger than him, no more than that. The bulkiness he carried might have made him intimidating, if his expression didn't scream _"awkward guy sitting right here, please bully me."_

"Perseus! Hey, good to see you again. I was just talking to your mother here about the extended time you've been away," Mr. Darling greeted him first, smiling without standing. He sipped his coffee and leaned back in the chair, smacking his lips. "We've missed you."

It had been some time since they'd last spoken, which left Percy struggling to recall how best to act. A second passed before he decided on his easiest approach.

"Hah, sorry 'bout that, coach. Some things came up and..." he sheepishly chuckled and averted his eyes.

 _He didn't actually have a cover story for his several-month absence from junior year._

To his surprise, he was spared from an explanation by Mr. Darling's wave of acceptance. "No worries. Your mother gave good reasons. It's just too bad that you missed track season! If you'd kept improving that the pace you had been, you'd have made it to state-level competition this year I'm sure! Oh well. Listen, would you mind if we talked for a bit?"

Percy nodded.

"Great!" The older man turned to his host. "Ms. Jackson, can I bother you for your restroom first? Coffee just goes right through me these days!"

"Of course. Down the hall, the door has a mirror on it."

With Mr. Darling out of the kitchen, Percy turned to the insecure boy who was glancing at him, his Mom, and Pax.

The kid clearly had some problems with self-esteem for whatever reason. He was constantly trying to shrink in on himself, twiddling his fingers.

"Perseus, this is-"

"-Nice to me-"

His mother and the stranger tried to speak at the same time, only to interrupt one another. The awkwardness doubled thereafter, making Percy quirk his eyebrow.

"Go ahead." His Mom directed the kid with a gentle prodding statement.

"Er, thanks. It's, uh, nice to meet you, Perseus. Your mom told me you might be able to help me. I've just been walking for a while and she picked me up when she saw me getting chased by those huge scorpions and then brought me back here and told me that she had a son who was going to this place that I was told to go-"

"Whoa there, guy," Percy held his hands up. "Breathe, breathe. I don't know if I can help you if you don't even tell me what your name is."

The boy coughed a few times and nodded.

 _Meek_. Very meek.

"I'm Frank Zhang. I'm a half-blood too, though, I don't know who my dad is."

For some reason, it felt like fate had just played a trick on him.

"Well, if we're all doing introductions..." Pax drew attention to herself. Percy felt a headache start to come on. "I'm Pax. Goddess of Peace. Nice to meet you all."

As if to emphasize her status, she lifted the wood pendant around her neck and gave an extremely exaggerated V sign with her fingers. Her grin was enough to show she had an inkling of how things would play out in the coming minute. Everything was predictable, really.

His Mom choked. Frank looked ready to make like a clam.

Yeah, pretty predictable.

Percy sighed and forced himself to smile. "Surprise~?"

* * *

 **A/N: Next chapter is going to be... different. New arc calls for experimentation, right? Well, we'll see how it goes.**


	16. Apparition

**A/N: Reminder that chapter 15 exists. If you haven't already, please read that to get the setting. If you have, disregard this note.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own PJO or HoO.**

* * *

16\. Apparition

* * *

 _Introductions. I've always prided myself on how I handle those fickle things. First impressions were my strong suit, one might say if they were to narrate my life. Yes, I certainly held delusions of what I was made of and how I could easily have introduced not only myself but my situation in a succinct yet exhaustive manner._

 _The time for that kind of commodity passed a long time ago. My story, the story of who I am, of who I was, of who I could possibly become… that story ended with a single decision made in poor spirits._

 _Therefore, I'll deliver my words rather brusquely._

 _Perseus Jackson—middle name heretofore unannounced—died because of his own selfishness… Or something like that._

 _I suppose, then, it'd be accurate to say that I died because of my own selfishness. Man, that really sounds edgy saying it so carelessly. Not the good kind of edgy either._

 _Let me put it in layman's terms for those who might not follow. I'm Perseus Jackson—middle name heretofore unannounced. That's the name I was given and who I'd grown up as. If anyone else claims to be Perseus Jackson—middle name heretofore unannounced—I'll fight them for the right to use it. There can be only one!_

 _Anyway, I should mention it was a slower death than what I'd always expected, being a half-blood son of the Elder Titan Iapetus and all._

 _A blaze of glory, holding off a rampaging horde of legendary monsters and ancient divinities; that's basically how I'd always seen myself going out. Maybe I'd even imagined dying in the arms of my lover, giving them a final, tearful smile as I readied myself for the afterlife._

 _Instead, I was poisoned. Not really exciting, huh? It was slow, deliberate, difficult, and above all else… painless. Dying in that manner didn't bring me any of the horrid torment that I'd grown accustomed to. So that's a plus._

 _Let me say one thing: life is painful._

 _Death was easy for me. So easy I'd do it all again if I could. I'd die again, happily, if I could live my painful life the same exact way. Now that the road to my death has been made clear to me, there wouldn't be any reason for me to deny my mortal truth. Accepting it was the logical choice._

 _It brought me the genuine thing, after all. With the skill I had at being fake, I can really say that getting to my authenticity was worth it. The ride was fun. The people I met along the way amused me for the most part. There weren't any absolutes that stood in my way._

 _My bad, I almost forgot to mention how much I dislike the concept of absolutes. My disdain might very well border on outright hatred. Maybe it's just a step below that, though. I despise absolutes. How edgy. I am the edge-lord. Darth Edgēlus._

 _It wasn't always like that, though, regarding my stance on absolutes. There was a point in time when I thought that the definite, the certain, the unquestionable and the infallible were all things I wanted in my life._

 _However, as I walked the lonesome road between caring and apathy, I learned something: absolutes are the bane of me._

 _This knowledge wasn't something I spontaneously found through deep, laboring, intensive introspection. I didn't get struck by lightning and suddenly have an epiphany._

 _No, it was—much like my death—a slow crawl that grew from modest roots. The seed that'd been planted wasn't even mine, either. It was given to me. Better yet, someone forced it upon me so they could break me in the future._

 _The plan never worked out for them._

 _I killed them for trying. They were thinking too hard anyway. My solution was probably a blessing._

 _That'd be a story for another time, though, one which I'm sure will be told eventually, in some way or another, always so close and so far from the truth. Twisted and aggrandized by people looking for some form of benefit. Even what I've told up to this point can all be viewed with suspicion. I encourage it, actually._

 _The last thing I'll add is an important piece: this story isn't completely nihilistic._

 _Well, somebody might have been able to tell as much from the above passages. But yes, what I have to say isn't entirely pessimistic, cynical, sardonic, vitriolic, and especially not nihilistic. The reason is pretty straightforward. Along the road I walked, there were a few people who took the time to stop and give me directions. With their help, I got to where I was heading._

 _For now, I'll start the next chapter of my life by retelling how I learned to hate absolutes._

 **[[AaMT]]**

The inevitable conversation, preordained by the Fates themselves as being bound to happen, was postponed by the timely re-arrival of my physics teacher. The planets must have aligned. Beams of celestial light shimmered down and planted gentle kisses on the crown of my head. I had found the golden ticket. The chocolate factory was waiting for me, grandpa!

I looked at Frank and my Mom. They'd reacted differently when finding out the woman behind me was actually a _near-omnipotent_ woman. Well, maybe omnipotent was too much of an exaggeration. Deities couldn't do everything nor did they want to. They certainly didn't have as much freedom as I'd originally thought, either.

Huh, that was almost pathetic. I realized that as a half-blood, I may actually have been given more sovereignty than the gods themselves. Not only was I gifted with abilities well beyond that of a normal human, I also had a certain level of independence unavailable to others. Go me.

Mr. Darling walked back to the kitchen island and picked up his coffee, taking another slow chug. He didn't sit down again. His eyes were closed and he took deep breaths, contemplation clear on his face. It was a typical expression for him. Students normally saw it when he forgot something in his lectures and tried to think on the subject further.

Most might've found it funny since Mr. Darling was barely into his thirties. He always talked like he was reaching sixty or something. Maybe that's what people found endearing about him. He was able to humor us kids about the dangers of growing up, without actually having grown up himself.

I let him take a few seconds to himself for whatever it was he thought about. On the count of three, I'd had enough of his running gag.

"Mr. Darling, you said you wanted to talk to me?"

His eyes snapped open and he nodded. "Right. Do you mind if I take him for a moment?"

Mom blinked and shook her head. The jerkiness in her movements clued me into how shocked she was about Pax's introduction. I didn't like seeing the emotion on her.

"We can talk in the living room," I offered. "There's more sun in there anyway."

"Sounds good."

As we walked out of the kitchen, I felt more unease claw its way and nestle in the wound on my pelvis. The sensation wasn't pleasant. It was like a rat had burrowed through my skin and muscle, constantly squirming around my guts. My leg had started to tremble lightly, an uncontrollable reaction to the fermented acid that now bubbled in that spot.

The need to sit down and take deep breaths overwhelmed me.

It was all there.

I could hear my screams again. Wails of fear? Cries of torment?

Sulfur through each inhalation. Cinder licked my hair. Hot air cracked my lips.

The screech of grinding metal from ghouls in armor brought me back to the battlefield again. The ceiling seemed to swirl like dark clouds. What sunlight came through our windows fell like chunks of scorching rock.

Horses brayed. Thunder cracked. Ash clogged my throat. Agony assaulted me, spreading fast from the sword impaling my body.

The steel countenance of a scowl bore into my eyes.

I stumbled and hit the wall with a shoulder, my nails scraping against beige paint, clawing to keep myself upright. Thankfully, I managed to stay standing, though my breaths came harsh and gargled.

An odd overlay of past and present voided my conscience from then-and-there. I was in two places at once, while also being in only one place. How could that make sense? It didn't. Well, then again, it never did. So even though I was still at my house, shivering against the wall, so too, was I back on the sandbar on the east coast.

The events came to me faster than I could process, repeating themselves over, over, over, under, and over.

For what felt like hours, I was caught in a place from which I couldn't escape. It had followed me from Charleston, South Carolina. My personal nightmare. A locale as far from idyllic as I could imagine. Limbo. Some ever-present, metaphysical venue of eternal spookiness.

Then, as quick as it had come, the immense pain ghosted away, taking each image, scent, taste, and noise with it. Not even a vague hint was left. I doubted my little episode lasted more than a few seconds. If I wanted to, I might be able to pass it off as a clumsy accident.

That's what I tried to do.

"I'm fine, stubbed my toe on the wall." I lied to the man helping me stand straight. He looked concerned but I plastered on a good-natured grin and shook my head. "Thanks for the help, coach."

"You sure you're okay?" he asked, sizing me up with a raised eyebrow.

"Yea." I belong on the silver screen. My acting was top-notch. Certified fresh. Maybe I'd earn an Academy Award or Golden Globe one day.

When we got to the living room, I sat down on the suede couch that Mom bought just before I left. It was blue—my second favorite color. She really wasn't thrifty, in that sense. On the same hand, I wouldn't call her irresponsible with her money. All she did was spend what she earned. Well, less than the full percentage. I'm pretty sure she would never buy something she couldn't afford.

All the windows had their blinds opened and drawn. Off to my right was one of those windows. Bright sunshine splashed across my legs and lower torso, streams of yellow-white that filled the room with natural light.

At some point, I'd heard that direct sunlight was something everyone should strive to get. It was an honest way to improve one's mood, so it was said.

I didn't buy it.

Most of my upper body rested in the shadows, where the light didn't directly reach. My face, at least, stayed cool in the morning warmth.

Mr. Darling took the seat opposite me. A rich burgundy chair, its cushions soft and squishy, with uncomfortable spots for arms to rest made of thin wood. It was one of the oldest pieces of furniture we still had. There were even some stains on it. For some reason, though, Mom never got rid of it.

"Perseus," he started, coffee still in his hand, "I suppose I want to talk to you about your future. I won't beat around the bush too much. I hope that's okay."

I had leaned forward in my seat, listening intently. "The stage is yours, coach."

"Good. That makes this easier. First, let me ask what you're planning on doing after high school."

A good question for me to think about.

Honestly? I had no clue. I'd never put too much thought into it. Up to that point, I might have said I dreaded taking the time to figure out my hopes and dreams. Half-bloods didn't tend to make it through adulthood.

"Can't say I really know. Maybe do what my Mom does?"

The answer didn't seem to please him. "I see. And do you know what your mother does?"

I paused. "She works… uh… she works at that power plant… or something..."

"Does she? Really?"

"No… wait… she changed jobs. Hold on, give me a minute… Oh! She works at Bio-Rad now. Yeah, she quit her other job cuz she wanted to work at a less oppressive company." I was a bit proud at remembering that little detail.

"Okay, so you know _where_ she works," Mr. Darling's voice remained unimpressed. "Now, do you know what she _does_ at Bio-Rad?"

Ah, shit. That was a question I had no answer for. What was with this line of questioning anyway? What, was I being interrogated by the cops? Get me my lawyer! I hadn't been read my Miranda warning; where was due process of the law?! Give me liberty, or give me death!

Hm, no, that had nothing to do with what Mom did at Bio-Rad. She wasn't a very judicious person. That was to say, she never thought about going into the legal side of professionalism. On the other hand, Mom was a very canny and sensible person. She must have been where I got it from.

Eugenics: 1. Random Breeding: 0.

I couldn't help but wonder, at my tangent, if the gods were proponents of eugenics. Did they select their paramours due to a few traits which they deemed desirable or was it simply lustful preference? Were they shallow enough to let superficial qualities dictate who they fucked?

Pax might not tell me if I asked so crudely. There were two ways the situation could play out in that case. Either she would feel somewhat offended and become defensive, meaning that the latter could be said of their decision-making… or she would share a good laugh with me over how crass I'd worded it.

Yes, in my mind, there wasn't an option where the gods actually worried about selective breeding.

Knowing how Pax shared a decent amount of my humor, I was tempted to say she'd be in stitches, but that was probably wishful thinking. It would all depend on my delivery.

I sighed, a feeling of boredom at playing the guessing game beginning to nag at my politeness. "I'm not sure what that has to do with me, coach."

"She's a marketing manager. It's how you can afford to stay in such a nice house, with such nice furniture, walking in such nice clothing, eating your trendy foods, and generally living such an upscale lifestyle. I spoke to her for about an hour, learning a little bit about her past. She worked quite hard to get to where she is. She's sharp. When I asked her why she went through with it all—getting her master's degree while simultaneously taking care of you when you were a baby—she told me it was just because she felt like it."

What was he getting at?

"It shocked me at first when she said that it wasn't because of you. Honestly, it was almost inconceivable to me, that her reasons were her own in a literal sense. Most people might have said they went through hardships for their children, should they have any during those times. Many single mothers would claim they did it all for their kids," he continued to talk, with his words becoming slower and more pronounced as time passed.

"But not her. Your mom said something else. Something I never thought I'd hear since maybe it's just become so common to say otherwise in this day and age. I imagine that people are afraid to be labeled as a narcissist if they thought of anything but their children at any point in time.

"And what a ridiculous notion, at that, wouldn't you agree? The fact will always remain that people are naturally selfish. They do what's best for them even when they think differently. People naturally dislike admitting that, though, since society has come to view selfishness as negative. Greed and selfish desire are often seen as the same thing, aren't they? And in that vein of thinking, greed is usually seen as one of the greatest sins a person can abuse.

"In moderation greed might be a good thing. In excess, humans draw the line, because it fosters an 'all for one' mindset. _T_ _ous pour un._ All for one. _Omnes pro uno._ All for one. _Todo para uno_. All for one. That kind of avarice is looked down upon. Humans aren't solitary creatures. There have to be some kinds of interpersonal connections. Else humans tend to fail to live up to their fullest potential. When humans unite for a single goal… one goal for all… that's when they do incredible things.

"So it makes sense that rampant selfishness is kept in check by way of social stigma, right?"

I stared at him. What in the holy hell was he rambling about? Mr. Darling was a regular Socrates with that kind of long-winded and inexplicable digression from our original topic.

"It makes sense, sure," I agreed. "Better to nip the problem in the bud before it ever grows. So I suppose we should thank societal values for that one. It keeps us civilized, eh?"

Of course, there were other reasons I had for being thankful. Children were raised on certain principles. Don't lie. Don't cheat. Don't steal. Don't kill. Everyone had probably been told those things at least once when they were younger by an adult.

However, equally true, was the notion that each of those principles had conditions attached to them.

Not really conditions, actually. They were… _justifications_. For each absolute restriction, there was an equally absolute sense of unrestricted justification.

Don't lie; _unless it was to save someone from_ _distress_ _._

Don't steal _; unless you were starving._

Don't kill; _unless it was to_ _protect_ _your life or the lives of people you love._

Even though society viewed killing, stealing, and lying to be "unjust", there were times when the only option society gave a person was to justify. With such in mind, I could take solace knowing I was surrounded by people with the potential to be just like me.

Let me give an example. A group of people has been taken hostage on top of a building by an assailant. Somebody is in the position to push said assailant off the building, thus saving the hostages. In doing so, however, that one person must be ready to accept the weight of killing another human. Now, with how many societies have molded their values, there will be several responses depending on what path is chosen for the potential hero.

If they push the assailant and save the hostages, all ends well enough. They are lauded as courageous though brash. Others might even see that person as an upstanding citizen.

If they don't push the assailant, resulting in most or all of the hostages dying, then the dead are grieved for and life continues on.

However, if they don't push the assailant yet still survive to tell their story while others died, then things become complicated.

Allow me to focus on one specific clause.

The would-be hero simply can't say that they didn't act on the opportunity to push the assailant because they themselves didn't want to become a killer. Many other reasons might be acceptable, however, I argue the aforementioned reason would be scorned in the public's view.

Some people might say, _they were cowardly._

Or even worse, _that's a poor excuse to let people die for._

As a whole, wouldn't this be the outcome? A person who could have saved people but didn't out of the desire to remain free of blood would be demonized. Therefore, everybody was capable of rotting. The mindset that everything could be justified, even murder, was so deeply embedded in our society it was viewed as a moral truth.

Just the thought was enough to take away most guilt from my actions.

"Civilized?" He seemed to ponder my rhetorical question. "Maybe. Anyway, let's get back on topic. What do you want to do in the future—after high school?"

It came to my attention that Mr. Darling was squinting at me, shielding his eyes with one hand from the brightness which further edged all around us. He was seated in one of the only places not touched by sunlight, which meant he was looking at the rest of the living room from a different perspective.

"I want to have fun."

"Fun?"

When did I get a parrot?

"Yup."

Because of the way he was positioned, I couldn't make out his expression. Not being able to see his face was annoying since most of my cues were taken from people's facial contortions when we interacted. So much happened on the face without a person even knowing until they'd already shown their cards.

Therefore, people who didn't have faces were my figurative bane. Those who wore masks came in second place. Masks could be removed or broken, after all. They were hardly permanent.

The phenomenon of being unreadable was a bit trickier. I would absolutely never be able to befriend those faceless few. No matter how hard I tried, they would rub me the wrong way too much, and eventually, I'd give up trying to ignore that discomfort.

I could never control the conversation around those kinds.

"Is that it? No further thought put in?" Mr. Darling asked. He didn't sound disappointed or upset. Just simple curiosity. I decided to humor him.

"Not really. I'll just go with what sounds fun to me. Honestly, college does sound like fun. Maybe I'll career browse while I'm there, take a few general studies classes and get a feel for the environment. You know what always sounded interesting to me, though? Criminal profiling. Or rather, criminal investigative analysis. I've done a bit of research into what I need for that. Seems like a long road for a cool job."

"I see. So law enforcement or criminology. I'm both a bit surprised and not surprised at all. It sounds like something you'd go for."

He gave a quick nod and smiled, taking to stand from his seat with one efficient move. "Thanks for talking with me about it. I know it must have been strange to see me here so early in the morning and after so long… but I wanted to check up on you. I'm glad to hear that you'll be coming back to school for your senior year and that everything is well for you after what happened in February."

 _Wait, what?_

I froze for a second, mind racing. I'd never made such plans. Hell, I hadn't heard so much as a peep about that kind of resolution. There was only one person who had the authority to do something like that in my name.

It was made clear to me. What other answer could there have been? The ultimate betrayal.

Et tu, Mom?

Just like Brutus had knifed his best-friend-forever, Caesar, so too, had my own mother stabbed me in the back. My flesh and blood. The woman I would never speak poorly of. That wonderful person who could brighten my week with the latest addition to her ever-growing menu of blue foods.

In the face of her treachery, my path looked clear. I had no choice but to run away. California would have to become a distant memory.

Goodbye, United States.

Hello, St. Lucia.

Ah, I could practically feel the tropical zephyrs enveloping me in their soft bosom of tenderness. I'd have to buy the plane ticket soon.

The sound of our front door closing brought me back from my fully warranted plan. I didn't see Mr. Darling in the room with me, which meant that he was the one who'd been making the ruckus.

Wait, had he just walked out without so much as a "see you later"? That kind of impropriety may have been okay for a kid, but when it came to adults, there were certain levels of etiquette that needed to be observed! And he called himself a teacher?

I began to push myself off the couch.

"Oh, please, do stay seated right there."

My body froze, half standing over the couch, my thighs and abdominal muscles clenched with the effort of supporting the weight. There really wasn't a reason for me to turn my head in the directions of who'd spoken. That voice was too easy for me to recognize.

"I'm sure you'd like to be sitting in a nice, comfortable, cozy place while you explain why you decided to fight a god known for his penchant for violence and brutality in a _friendly_ manner. Or for that matter, why a goddess is referring to you as 'The Titan-Slayer' instead of the perfectly fine name I gave you."

Despite myself, I looked at the three people standing by the mouth of our living room.

Mom had her arms crossed, passively assaulting me with her stare. Just from that, I could see she was pissed. It wasn't really that I felt scared of what punishment she might have come up with.

Nothing would've affected me too much, in truth.

Rather, the tightness in my chest came from knowing that I'd upset her, disappointed her, and made her worry.

Frank looked torn between gaping at me in astonishment and receding further into his personal bubble to get away from Mom's ultimate technique. No, there was more to it than that. It was almost like he was forcibly being quelled into submission by my mother's sheer intimidation factor. God-tier scariness. She'd maxed out charisma, just like me! Great minds think alike.

I took my eyes and narrowed them, pulling a dry glare onto my face when I turned to Pax. She'd gone and run her mouth before I could get a single word in. All behind my back, too. I wanted to see her squirm when she was confronted with my vexation.

Unfortunately, the goddess had planned accordingly. Her hands were behind her back, eyes never going near my face, whistling some upbeat tune while she rocked from her toes to her heels. Playing innocent was she? As if that would work on me. I saw through the guise.

"Perseus—Percy, eyes here. You'll have plenty of time to stare at your girlfriend later."

Woah there! I knew she was mad, but did she have no sense of self-preservation? Putting labels on a goddess with such casual dismissal… that could never end well. Think before you speak, Mom; please and thank you, because even though you betrayed me, I'd never want you to be hurt.

Besides, Pax definitely wasn't my girlfriend. We'd never discussed our relationship, however, I figured the most she would describe us as would be close acquaintances. Maybe friends. Truth be told, the idea of being her friend was appealing.

She'd saved my life. Just because it hadn't been directly... well it made no difference to me. There was more to it than that, too. If I had to sum up my experience around Pax, I'd easily say that she was a fun person to be with. And I liked having fun.

With a nod and a long inhalation, I gestured to the empty seats around me. "Sit down." I directed my inflection to drop, for somber situations needed a delicate voice. "I'll start the story in April. It was the last day of the Cerealia; a cloudy, gloomy day that spelled trouble no matter how you look at it..."

 **[[AaMT]]**

It took me over an hour to tell my story. For the most part, Mom and Frank had been good audience members to my epic tale, sitting quietly and not interrupting unless it was for a quick elaboration on certain parts.

Even though she behaved herself, my Mom still seemed to be struggling with something for the entire duration. Not that it was tough to figure out what bothered her.

Immediately following my delusional interpretation of how things went on the quest, Frank went on to give us a truncated version of his life experience.

Well, truncated may have been a poor choice of vocabulary, since the word was associated with an apex being cut off by some form of planar subject. The vibe I got was more that he'd shortened the middle, lengthened the end, and almost completely skipped the beginning of his story.

All said, I saw no plane—no directional axis—telling me whether to view his spiel as two-dimensional or three-dimensional.

Obviously, calling it one-dimensional would be correct in all senses. It had a certain length. Therefore, it was given a single dimension when viewed by humans. No reason for me to even consider saying otherwise.

What I couldn't see was whether his story went beyond integers or digits on a prescribed line. Did it have some kind of 'width' to it? Did it cover a certain 'area'? Maybe. Maybe not.

If I answered yes to the preceding questions, then the next quality I'd look for would be 'depth'. Again, it was hard to say. As a human, it was impossible to say. He certainly seemed to think there was depth to his own problems; some form of volume which gave them credence.

Dead mother. Absent father. Difficult grandmother. Monster attacks.

People went through worse things. So many people went through much more terrible things than he did, however, he couldn't understand their pain because of his lack of 'depth' in those types of worldly happenings.

So to him, yeah, there was real depth in his story. To me, it was artificial 'depth'.

I didn't sympathize. What would be the point of giving him my pity? I don't think there was any. Even if he'd wanted pity, I'd only have thrown him the barest amount. Enough to make it look like I actually cared. The truth… well… eventually, he might learn the truth. I don't think he'd be able to handle it when the moment came. Frank was malleable and so he'd get no real sympathy from me.

I could empathize, though. I'd already been in that position, so there was nothing keeping me from empathy. Monster attacks? Check. Absent father? Check. Difficult grandmother? Check.

The only thing separating us was a dead mother. Well, that and how we generally acted.

Anyway, his story continued when he'd been collected by a pack of Lupa's wolves and taken to the Wolf House all the way from his place in Canada. Lu-Lu had trained him for about a week and then sent him on his merry way.

I found her short time spent with him a tad odd. Did she really think this timid, lamb-like kid was legionnaire material? Were standards starting to slip?

Whatever the case was, Frank had ended up running from a couple of those giant scorpions when my Mom found him yesterday afternoon. Being who she was, he'd been offered a temporary place to recuperate and relax for the night and took refuge in one of our guest rooms.

Well, I wasn't comfortable letting a fresh little lamb stay at my house, in which my Mom still resided. He was a demigod, after all, which meant monsters would be attracted by his scent. The longer he stayed at our place, the more he invited trouble for Mom.

 _Unacceptable._

So, to avoid all that, I told him I'd take him to Camp Jupiter tomorrow. Even if we were attacked that way, I was reasonably confident in guarding him against most threats.

Unfortunately, I was probably in worse physical condition than a few months ago.

Well, a statement like that wasn't exactly true. For the most part, my condition was fine if one simply disregarded the injuries I still carried around.

My left hand had lost most of its grip strength. While my right hand could finish several reps of five-hundred-pound crush grips, my left maxed at about twenty pounds. Even carrying a gallon of milk was hard after a minute or two. I mean, what kind of half-blood was I?

Then there was my gimp leg. People from the middle ages might have called a person like me "lame". Sure, the word was still around and used to describe the feeble or hobbled, but among the younger crowd it took a different connotation. Seeing as how I was part of that crowd, I'd play by their rules and say that something lame was actually something uncool.

For example; a lame shirt.

No, the shirt isn't crippled. Rather, it's not chic. Welcome to Slang 101. Or as Lupa might say, _hip young lingo_.

Gods above, just thinking about her attempts to fit in made me shiver.

"What're you thinking about?"

My hand halted on my bedroom door's handle. Pax stood just to the side, waiting for me to continue the house tour that I'd been giving her. My offer to show her around our place was more of an excuse to get the hell out of the living room and leave that oppressive environment.

I think Mom had finally reached her limit at some point during my explanation. She'd left right after I'd finished, muttering something about needing to lie down and rest.

Frank, who must have still been tired after his supposed hardships, also excused himself to the room he'd been allotted.

The only ones who remained awake were Pax and me.

"I was just wondering how Lupa was doing. It's been a while since I saw her." Perfect cover because it was almost fifty percent true. Ha, that kind of percentage seemed to pop up a lot when it came to things that concerned me.

Pax didn't speak for some time, though she kept all of her attention trained my way. Under her scrutiny, I stayed myself.

"You looked more disconcerted than curious," she said, responding tactfully. Her cool amber eyes were locked. "So I can't say that I completely believe you. I don't like calling you a liar… but..."

 _Okay then, Sherlock, you got me_. There wasn't a reason to lie, in the first place. My initial reaction just felt right.

"I was just thinking about this"—I lifted my left hand—"and how sad it was that I could barely carry groceries anymore. Hey, why the hell do protagonists always get fucked up at some point in the story?"

Her eyes dropped, unable to maintain contact anymore. "That's just the burden they carry. The good and the evil always face hardships. Neither can take the higher ground. If one did, then the balance would be thrown askew. And without that balance, there would be an upheaval. Protagonists and antagonists must always balance, otherwise, the story would begin to end."

"And what about in real life, then?" I asked. My right hand turned the knob and pushed the door open. A dim room greeted me back. Neither of us moved inside. "What was the point of doing this to myself?"

"I wish I could tell you the balance in our world was easy to see. I really do. When it comes to this situation, though, wouldn't you agree that the balance seems cut and dry? Can you really say that this trade wasn't equal on the scales of justice? You, a mortal, felled a Titan that day. While I don't agree with Lady Vesta recklessly lending you those flames, in the end, you managed to harness her power and win the day."

Ah, right, she'd been told an edited version of my fight. I actually almost let it slip right there.

"Is that really balance, then? Does balance actually exist in real life? When you put it that way, the Titans lost more than we did."

Pax sent me a sad smile. "But they didn't lose more than _you_ did, right? You only have so much to give to our cause. There are other Titans out there, true… but Percy, how much more can your body take before its over? No, a better question would be how much more can _you_ take.

"Personally, I think you've hit your limit."

"I've said it before and I'll say it again: you underestimate my power."

"Don't try it."

Was there any reference too obscure for her? I'd have to keep trying and hope eventually I could catch her with one she wasn't aware of. Well, I suppose I shouldn't take her words to just be the follow-up to my previous statement.

"Do you think I can fight another Titan?"

"I have faith that you can. In fact, I'd say that anything less than you fighting at least one more Titan before this war ends would be inconceivable. When the time comes, though, I also think you'll have matured enough to see beyond what's right in front of you. Or, I can hope that'd be the case."

She moved counter-clockwise, walking so that I had to turn my body to keep sight of her. Each step drew her a bit closer. When she finally came to a stop, I'd spun one-hundred-eighty degrees, my back turned to the dark room.

We stared at one another.

I hadn't met a person like her ever before. How could somebody have so much confidence in me? Where was it coming from? Why did I feel like there were now expectations placed on my shoulders? What did I stand to gain from letting her tell me these things? When would I learn what she wanted from me?

"Are you calling me short-sighted?" I couldn't help but ask. "I'll have you know that my vision is 20/10."

"A good score for the physical test." She took eight aggressive strides forward, forcing me to backpedal so we wouldn't collide. Once we were both in the room, she leaned close and gave me a hard stare. "But we both know that you can read between the lines better than most. I'd never argue that with you. And maybe that's why you start missing the big picture. You've gotten so used to trying to figure out the ulterior you start missing the ultimate."

Pax tilted her head. "Naomi prays to me almost every day now. Noel more often than ever before. You've given me my children back."

"Anybody could have done that."

She nodded. Her hands went to her hips once more. "True. I doubt any legionnaires would have refuted Jason in the temple except Octavian and maybe Michael. That in mind, they weren't the ones to volunteer for the quest. It wasn't them down there in that place, finding the horrors in those bowels. And I _seriously_ doubt any other legionnaire would've beaten Pallas."

I snorted. "It wasn't me who finished him off. Jason did."

"Jason had Reyna and Vesta by his side. You fought alone and managed to mortally wound a part of his conscience. In my book, that's pulling more than your share of the weight."

"I love the recognition but why are you telling me all this?" I took a few steps away from her and looked around my room. It was the same as I'd left it back in February.

There was plenty of space. It was a pretty big room to start with, made to seem even bigger since there was a sparse amount of decoration. I never liked to clutter the floor with unnecessary things. A queen-size bed, one long dresser, and a single three-foot desk were pushed up against three separate walls. Close to where we'd entered, a medium length crescent lounging chair accounted for the final piece of furniture.

Everything was neat and in its proper place, satisfying me to where I gave a huff of approval.

"What in tarnation."

When the hell did a cowboy get into my room? Now hol' up there par'ner, I don't know why you'd decide to switch accents and use colloquialisms so abruptly, but I can't help feeling somewhat offended.

After all, I'd never invited anybody into my room before. Mom was the only other person who had seen my innermost sanctum. So if your first reaction is to exclaim _"what in tarnation"_ then yeah, I'm gonna be offended! I demand recompense.

"Got something to say?" I asked. It sounded like a threat. May I say, though, it wasn't.

Pax glanced around and shook her head. "What's with this bland room? Are you some kind of replicant? Nexus-6? No, we have the technology. The time for those models is over. You'd be a Nexus-1000. A Nexusator! By the gods, you've infiltrated our ranks. The Resistance is compromised."

My eyelids dropped as I gave her my patented dry stare. "Don't arbitrarily combine references like that. Imagine how the audience for our movie and cartoon adaptation would feel if you alienated them with those kinds of negligent meta-parodies."

"No idea what you're talking about."

Blatant lies!

"Good try. I counted three 80's sci-fi references there. I'll have you know, by the way, none of my body is metallic or mechanical."

The goddess laughed loudly. Actually, it was closer to a mad cackle than a pleasant laugh. "AH-HA! You fool, you've activated my trap card! Terminator 2 came out in '91, and The Six Million Dollar Man was from the '70's, which means I actually only made _one_ reference to 80's sci-fi culture!"

Wha-?! Shit, she was right! How had I forgotten that Judgment Day came out in 1991?

My legs felt like jelly at realizing how I'd lost at my own game. I dropped to my knees, defeated before Pax's smug expression, hanging my head in shame.

"A Yu-Gi-Oh reference adding insult to injury? Lupa can never find out I lost."

I stood up, still a bit dejected at having failed myself.

"No, but really, this place is so bare," Pax said, walking to my closet and sliding the door aside. Her hands began to sort through all of my hanging clothes, head bobbing from side to side as she explored. "Wow, you actually have a pretty nice catalog here."

"Oh, no, please, make yourself at home." My voice was as bland as my room. "Don't worry about how I feel with you browsing through my personal space."

She nodded and smiled, shooting me a thumbs-up with a complimentary wink. "Thanks! You're so kind."

" _Sarcasm._ "

"Let's get back on topic." Her voice came from inside the closet, almost totally muffled. Hey, she wasn't sniffing my shirts, was she? Should I be worried or flattered if she was doing just that? Hmm. Alright, I'd be split.

"Sure, where were we?" I crossed my arms.

"I was about to justify my reasons for telling you all that stuff from before. Oh, nice Star Wars shirts."

"Can we stay on topic if you went through the trouble of getting back there in the first place? Don't multiply by 0 and then divide by 1."

"That's just 0..."

"Zero to hero."

"Please don't compare yourself to Hercules. You and he are _very_ different. He's still grumpy about being made a god and eternally guarding the entrance to the ancient lands."

"So that's what he's doing these days? Sounds awful," I scratched my hair. "Glad I'm not that sucker."

Pax poked her head out of the closet and grimaced. "… Maybe you're more similar than I thought. I'm gonna have to ask you to cease and desist. I'll go ahead and read you your rights. Any last words before I ask the jury to deliver their decision?"

 _Who the hell made her the judge?_

"OBJECTION! And can we get back on track?"

"Sure. The reason is actually a bit embarrassing to say. Since you asked, though, I really feel no other option but to tell you… Let's see, I suppose I should preface this by saying I'm fully confident in your ability to deal with things yourself. With that in mind, it was mainly Naomi's prayers that influenced me to check up on you once you'd gotten back to Camp Jupiter."

Not a real big curveball there. Naomi had a crush on me. She thought I was some big-shot hero. I could see her asking Pax to make sure I was doing fine or something.

"Despite your outward displays, I've seen what extensive trauma can do to a mortal. So even though our first talk went well enough, I decided to keep making sure you're keeping up. Therefore, I've gotta make sure your ego is satisfied, right? A bit of encouragement here, a dash of fluffing your pride there, and just a bit of Chemical X..."

 _Is she making a Powerpuff Girl?!_

"...will hopefully positively affect you."

"Why though?" Again, the question slipped off my tongue faster than I could catch it. Talking to Pax made me feel pretty stupid sometimes. Not that she ever actively made me feel such. More, it was on my own part. The classic ' _it's not you, it's me'_ clause.

She spun to look me dead on, a very noticeable frown marring her normally affable expression. Her hair floated for a second, then began to arrange itself in a different style. She didn't even lift a finger.

It didn't take long until she'd gone from loose locks to a soft bun which rested just above her neck. Some strands still fell from her temples and hung by her ears.

"What kind of self-derogatory question is that? Percy, are you feeling alright? You just went out-of-character for a second there, sounding all timid and uncertain. Should I ask the author to re-write that line for you?"

"Excuse me, Ms. Pax, please don't use that kind of meta-humor at this moment. You see, if we try to incorporate self-awareness at this stage, we'll begin to rely on it too much for a quick laugh. Eventually, the problem becomes that the audience gets used to that gag, and thus, it loses its effectiveness. Let's try to limit how _meta_ we get from now on, okay?"

"Ruin all my fun, why don't you?" she huffed and looked away, crossing her arms.

Just as I was about to respond, she froze. The goddess stopped moving. Even her chest— _which I will deny ever staring at if questioned_ —was stationary.

I blinked, and she disappeared from her spot by my closet. In the span of a twitch, she had moved to my bed.

There, she was lifting an unassuming brown box. I hadn't even noticed it since it was fairly small. Mom had said something about a package for me, though. I suppose seeing it wasn't a huge surprise.

"What's in the box?"

Pax's question almost fell on my deaf ears. She'd been quiet in asking. Very quiet. Almost like she was scared of the answer. Her hands were trembling, which also rattled my parcel.

I shook my head. "I dunno."

"Open it. Please."

My eyebrow shot up. Why was she so shaken? What was with the sudden change in mood? Did we get transported into a murder-mystery novel? I'd like to petition for my return to the happy-go-lucky young-adult book I'd previously been in. Get me my agent.

"Uh, okay then?"

Grabbing it from her, I tore the tape which held the box closed.

I spared her a glance. She wasn't even looking anymore. Her eyes were glued to the comforter on my bed.

"What's in the box?" Pax's voice spurred me to action.

The flaps loosely slid open. Not enough for me to see inside.

A stench rose once the tape had been completely removed. My nose wrinkled instinctively at the musky, decayed fetor that peeked out through whatever opening it could escape from. It was tough to describe. Not pleasant, that was for sure.

Vile. Somewhat earthy, too. Base.

Scrunching my face, I lifted the outer flaps and pushed them aside. Still, I couldn't see inside. My mouth had gone dry. The bracelet was sending a barrage of palpable thrums into my wrist. Impetus was clicking against my teeth. Both were signs of some sort of danger, which gave me a distinct desire to shove the box under my bed and pretend it didn't exist.

 _I'm sorry, what box? Oh, you mean that one? Haha, sorry, that doesn't actually occupy volume or contain mass at the moment. Come again and maybe we'll figure something out in a time and place far, far away._

Where had all the courage gone? I'd faced Pallas with courage given to me from Pax. She hadn't even been _there_ and somehow I managed to keep my composure while fighting against a Titan and his army.

So then where in the hell did it go? Why did I feel so apprehensive? She stood so much closer than back then. Why? Why was I hesitating so much?

Without further contemplation, I opened the inner flaps.

I wasn't sure what I'd been expecting. Really, I was so caught up in worrying about the contents my logical side had taken a midday nap. Detective Mills and I would remain two separate people. The box was too slim to fit a whole human head inside. Good thing, too.

What it could fit, however, was a shriveled hand.

Gray and wrinkled, with dark, coarse fur covering from the wrist up to its fingers, the hand rested helplessly inside. The fingers were gnarled and bony, covered in twisted hunks of decomposed flesh.

"What's in the box?"

Even though I knew, my dread hadn't been suppressed by smallest fraction. In fact, it was growing. Slowly, like a boiling pot of water, the reaction was building to the brim. The reek didn't help me compose myself, either.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realized how the story went. It was famous. A very renowned horror story. A short horror story written at the turn of last century.

The story's main antagonist? Thoughtless ignorance.

The story's secondary antagonist? Avarice.

The story's maguffin? A monkey's paw.

"I see." Pax had glanced inside the box, no doubt having grown tired of asking me the same thing over and over again. She looked more than a little perturbed. Lines creased around her eyes, forehead, and mouth. Her lips were thin and tight. "So that's how we're playing this game?"

"The monkey's paw..." My whisper almost thundered around the room. "I don't… is this a joke…?"

"No. Look closer at the hand."

I did just that. Squinting, I saw something that I hadn't seen during my first scouring. There, sitting dead-center on the back of the paw was a tattoo-like marking in black ink. It was a picture. A pair of lips with an "X" over them.

My mind raced at seeing the image. Again, a familiar phrase came to mind. It was like a kid's riddle. There was something in that single picture that told a thousand words. It could speak volumes.

But that was wrong. It _didn't_ speak volumes.

"Speak no evil." This time, when I gave voice to my thoughts, an intense fever blanketed my body. "That's what this means, right?"

"Orcus."

"Orcas? Shamu has nothing to do with this, Pax. We can visit SeaWorld some other time."

The goddess gave me a look positively _drenched_ in pity. "Not the animal. Percy, this is the source of that discomfort you've no doubt been feeling since we got here. I felt it too."

Ah, so that's what she was searching my closet for.

"Yeah, I figured… wait, what's with this 'Orcus' thing you said?"

"God. Orcus is the god who deals with punishing those who've broken oaths. Especially heinous in his eyes are those who break oaths to kin. Worse than that to him, are those who swear false oaths to kin. I believe you know one of his legacies. A young shit known as Bryce Lawrence."

"False… oaths?"

Thoughts of Mom and I eating at a diner in Sonoma wormed their way into my head.

" _Promise you won't do anything crazy?"_

" _I swear it. On whatever deity may be listening."_

Right. I'd sworn not to do anything crazy. I'd sworn on any divine entity that was listening in at that time. Even at that time, though, I knew it was an oath I couldn't keep. Nor was it one I had any intention of keeping.

Besides that, there was the fake promise I'd made to those traitors. Probably not as big of a deal as the one to Mom, to be honest.

"I didn't want to worry you. This, however, solidifies my suspicions, unfortunately. Orcus is… twisted. He's sick. Sadistic. He _loves_ torturing his victims, making them hurt. And now, Percy, you've drawn his attention. I can see that you know what you've done."

Gently, I put the box down and backed away. "What does this mean? This paw… Orcus… my fake oath… what's going on? What'll happen?"

Pax rubbed my shoulder. "You're his target. Orcus, although utterly detestable, has a very interesting sense of humor and work ethic. He's playing a game. He always does. This paw is the second piece that I know of."

My good hand clenched. "What's the first piece then?"

"Your mother."

I felt lightheaded hearing those words. The air left my lungs faster than I would ever have thought possible. My legs quivered and I couldn't bear to stand up anymore. Stumbling to my bed, I lowered myself to sit, stomach flipping and imploding at a pace beyond normal anxiety.

"Wh-what?"

"Without proof, I can't give you an absolute answer. It's my suspicion, though, that Orcus is leeching your mother's soul away from her. She's awfully tired, ready to embrace eternal slumber. I'm not sure how much longer it will-"

"How do I stop it?"

Pax seemed taken aback by the simmering rage under my deceptively casual diction. Even I was surprised at how much choked fury seeped into my tone. I sounded like a man ready to commit horrid atrocities.

In fact, that's exactly what I was. That man was me.

The goddess didn't answer me quick enough. I shot to my feet and grabbed her arm, pulling her closer to me. My eyes trembled and I could have sworn that she flinched at my grip. " _How. Do. I. Stop. It._ "

"I… I'm not sure. Like I said, he plays games with his victims. He watches them as they hurt themselves. He likes putting them in situations that seem winnable, to give them hope, before crushing that hope ruthlessly. My personal recommendation would be to confront him, face-to-face."

Winnable situations, huh? That sounded like a sick way to torture people. Mental. Mind games. I didn't like torture. I'd rather be done with heinous acts like murder quickly. Drawing people's pain out for amusement was disgusting. I already felt hatred toward Orcus settling into my heart.

My eyes went to the monkey's paw.

So his game was to force me to use it, huh? He wanted me to make a wish on the paw, which would then bring me some kind of detriment due to tampering with fate. That's how it worked. The paw brought ultimate misfortune. If I wished for my Mom to stop having her soul leeched, the wish might come true by way of her soul being completely obliterated. Semantics. The paw was a stickler for semantics.

"Percy. Whatever you do… please… _please_ don't use the paw." Pax pried my hand off her arm. "It's-"

"I know. It's what he wants. But can this thing even grant wishes?"

"Don't doubt the power of a god. This particular item feels stronger than usual. It hasn't just received a portion of his divine power. It feels like there's another kind of power in there. As if it were extraordinary even before Orcus got his filthy hands on it."

I exhaled. "And you're sure this is Orcus? I don't want to piss off a god who had nothing to do with this."

This time, she nodded with conviction. "I'm sure. He's responsible."

"And you can't do anything?" It was a long-shot to ask. I was sure she'd have offered if there _was_ something she could do. Pax just felt like that kind of person to me. Reliable and compassionate.

She shook her head slowly. "No. This is his domain. I'm sorry to say this, but it's your own fault. He usually sticks to torturing the souls of the dead. Very rarely does he involve himself like this. When he does, though, everybody knows it. Nazi-Soviet Pact ring any bells? Well, when Adolf Hitler—a son of Hades—broke the non-aggression oath with Joseph Stalin—son of Orcus himself—the results are written in history. Hitler offed himself and Stalin came out victorious."

Stalin was a son of Orcus? Why wasn't I surprised about that? Still…

"So there's nothing you can do?"

"Interfering with his domain wouldn't do us any good. Even if I tried to save your mother, he'd go after you directly. Or he'd just keep trying to kill Sally. Maybe he would do worse if I put him in a bad mood. He's toying with you, true, but in doing so he's giving your mother time. I'd give her another month or two before she's put in a critical state.

"No, as much as I wish it were okay, the best option is for you to confront him and either force or convince him to stop targeting you. Not only that, it would be in both of our interests if you and I limited our personal and professional interaction for the foreseeable future. He's known for his cruelty, and I wouldn't wish for anything to happen because I stuck around too long. He could do truly horrible things to your mother. Death may be a mercy if he wanted."

My face fell into a harsh scowl. I could feel anger and alarm wring every other emotion from the countenance I provided. Not only did that combination simmer at the surface of my displayed persona. It brewed under my skin and roiled around inside me like diluted magma.

Fire wanted to escape from me.

Energy clawed to be free of its dimensional confine.

The urge to _rip_ and _tear_ at the closest person made me gnash my teeth.

Without a second thought, the bracelet around my wrist was unfurled, expanding and taking on a different shape. Its shrill grinding noise grated the walls as I lifted its transforming body. Once my arm had reached the zenith of its upward arc, I brought it down.

My fist was tightly clenched around the handle of the black broadsword that formed from the bracelet. The weapon's tip crashed against the floor, embedding itself into the low-pile carpet of my room.

The newest spoil of war. Pallas' sword, made of Stygian iron, was truly an armament for a Titan to wield. It felt close to fifteen pounds and just looking into the dark metal sent chills lancing down my spine.

While the weight was ridiculous, thankfully, the sword's length had been reduced once I claimed it. Now, instead of being as tall as I was, it stood at a still impressive height of nearly five feet.

I wondered if maybe the sword had been heavier in Pallas' care, too, and had adjusted once I picked it up after our fight. If so, I marveled at how much it weighed before.

Well, be that the case or not, those musings didn't abate my fury. I'd noticed how prone I was to letting my emotions take control after the quest. Where before I figured there had been some modicum of restraint I exerted, things had changed. And I prided myself on knowing how dangerous it was to let myself fall to rage.

Carefully measuring my breathing, I looked at the unimpressed goddess in front of me. "Sorry. Looking at the Stygian iron helps cool me down."

Pax scrunched her nose and sniffed disdainfully. "I can't imagine why staring at the tool that almost took your life calms you."

Yeah, that _was_ strange. I'd never felt ill at ease handling the sword. Discomfort at its weight, sure; never had I been brought bad omens from handling it, though. Maybe because it was mine? Or maybe it had something to do with my natural affinity with weapons.

"Change of plans," I said. My left hand ran over the freezing cold blade, careful not to so much as nick myself. "You and I have a lot to discuss before the day is over. I have tons of questions. I'd really like tons of answers."

* * *

 **A/N: This was a really fun chapter for me to write, which I do think was partly because of the style. I know that it might be jarring since I've only ever written in third-person up till this point. Still, I enjoyed it. Hope you all enjoyed reading it, too. I personally think this was better than last chapter, which I plan on going back and re-writing eventually. Too much I want to fix.**

 **And here we get into the meat of this arc. The stage is set and almost all major players have been discussed. I've missed responding to some reviews here and there, which I apologize for. I try to grab them all, though sometimes I miss 'em.**


	17. An Analysis of Jordan Baker

_**Review Response-**_

 **Malosi06: Glad you enjoyed! The beginning is how he might perceive his death, yeah.**

 **Jet: Well it's good to hear that you're still hooked! The parts about society and justification was mostly to give the precedent for future character juxtaposition. This arc isn't fully fleshed out yet, but I hadn't planned on adding Greek demigods to the mix quite yet. We'll have a small mention here and there, but nothing solid. Next arc, when I showcase the Second Titan War, is when things between sides mix. Then, of course, the rise of Gaea also includes it.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own PJO, HoO, or ToA.**

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17\. An Analysis of Jordan Baker

* * *

Frank and I ran.

I mean, running was nice. Good cardio and good for the soul. I actually liked running.

Thing is, I don't like running away from giant lizards bigger than cars that felt compelled to eat me just because of my heritage. Not a fan. Negative on buying merchandise. I wasn't getting the Blu-ray version.

Too bad the monsters didn't really care and kept the chase alive. So Frank and I didn't have many other options but to run.

I'd wrongly assumed that because of his larger stature, the lamb-child would fall behind if I weren't careful about my pace. Following my logic at the time, I'd held myself back so he could keep up.

Can't say I expected him to outrun me. The fact of the matter is, however, Frank managed to do just that. I wouldn't say he exceeded expectations more than he defied them. If I was the T-800, then Frank was the T-850.

An upgrade from the previous model: me. I couldn't rightfully count him as the T-1000 now could I? He wasn't that cool. I'd never acknowledge him as a badass when all he could do was hide behind me while I fought.

If only my body hadn't been so fucked. I felt like my limit was coming up sooner rather than later.

Oh well. I knew that bitching about how life was unfair wouldn't do either of us any favors. Given the situation, thinking up solutions on how to get to Caldecott Tunnel in one piece took precedence over all else.

We'd been running for well over an hour. It was late night. Both of us were tired, Frank probably more than me.

Immediately following a rather long talk with Pax about my options for dealing with Orcus, I'd done three things: woken Frank so we could leave for Camp Jupiter, left a note for Mom so she wouldn't worry, and thrown that box containing the monkey's paw into the nearest dumpster, far from both my house and camp.

There was no way in hell I was bringing something like _that_ with me to a place filled with ambitious Roman demigods.

Their safety didn't concern me. If the paw fell into Octavian's hands, however, things could've gotten ugly. That power-hungry little bastard would use it without so much as a second thought. How he'd become a centurion was beyond me.

I acknowledged his persuasive talent.

I also acknowledged his ever-grasping nature. He was a prideful, entitled, sociopathic scarecrow who would rather see New Rome burn than be out of his control.

Saying all that, I realized he and I were somewhat similar. The difference, however, lay in our competency. To put it simply, I was better than him in every single way. Octavian would never be my equal. I refused to allow him to take even a step.

"Perseus, they're gaining on us!"

The sudden shout from Frank jolted me back to our predicament. We were being chased. It hadn't taken long for the first set of monsters to find us after we'd left my house. No doubt, as soon as Pax was gone, their hunt had started.

Two half-bloods probably smelled too good for them to pass up. Unfortunately for those first few dozen monsters, I'd been pretty pissed. Knowing Orcus had done something to my Mom, knowing that she was wilting away—it started a fire in my heart. I'd never given the concept of hatred much thought before. I'd never needed to. As I'd come to learn about how Orcus might take Mom from me, I'm sure hatred was all I felt toward him. There was no desire that raged more in my mind than watching Orcus beg me to spare him. I didn't even care if he died or not. As long as I broke him—his sick pride in torturing people—and made sure he never looked in my family's direction again, that'd be enough to satisfy my hatred.

It was such a hideous emotion.

Hatred, that's to say.

So vile.

It drew roots down to each of my fingers and sent fury racing through my blood. The itch I'd felt to spill blood hadn't subsided much, even after holding a conversation with a goddess like Pax. Her aura calmed me to an extent, bolstered by the presence of my newest spoil of war, but it hadn't been enough.

When the first gryphon dive-bombed Frank and I only about a mile away from my house, I'd cut its wings off with the broadsword before caving in its skull with my foot. From then on, my sword didn't go back to bracelet form for most of our journey. More monsters had been eager to attack us, meaning the Stygian iron was ready to drink their essence in the most painful way possible. In fact, it'd only been a few minutes since I stored it away, my arm having finally gone numb from the exertion.

Pallas' Stygian iron weapon was a wonderful addition to my collection, might I say. My research into the metal gave me the impression that because Styx was once his wife, the sword might have been a gift. After all, Stygian iron had to be cooled in her river. The reasoning made sense to me, at least.

Ah, was this how it felt to cuck a Titan? Unlimited power! Not to mention the other spoil of war Jason had gotten from Pallas.

"Perseus!"

The three Aethiopian drakons chasing us had cut the distance substantially. They were practically right on top of me. I could hear the way their scales dragged against the asphalt of the road we ran along. I could also make out the vicious hissing.

Even if I'd wanted to summon my new sword, I was too tired to even lift the damn thing. It wasn't an exaggeration when I'd pegged the weight as maybe fifteen pounds. _Approximately_ fifteen pounds. I may even have been generous in trimming that number down.

Never call a woman heavy, right?

As much as I wanted to stop and fight the drakons again, my right arm was spent. Gutting dracanae and harpies for nearly an hour had taken its toll. Using the sword was nothing less than a trial of endurance. Any normal human would have called it quits after the first minute of hacking, slashing, thrusting, and parrying.

With a sigh, I considered the situation carefully. Frank was about ten feet in front of me. He was looking back, face shiny with sweat and twisted with fear. I could tell he didn't like the chances of me getting out alive.

Too bad for him, I wasn't so easy to kill. The past two months hadn't been wasted by me. There hadn't been a reason for me to sit idle; so I trained. Not just my body, either. With something like Titanic Energy at my disposal, my options in combat were second to none.

I was in a league of my own in terms of half-bloods. Or not. Jason was up there with me too. Possibly Reyna. Hercules and maybe the original Perseus as well. Okay, I wasn't as alone as I thought, I'll admit.

The road we ran along, some well-kept street in the suburbs of Claremont Hills, was completely empty. People who lived in this neighborhood were typically associated with being upper-middle class. They worked stable, safe, peaceful jobs and lived the "American Dream" in their calm, progressive community. There weren't many of those kinds wandering the roads at midnight.

My eyes wandered to the nearest parked car. It was a station wagon, resting near the curb, patiently waiting for its owner to drive it in the morning. A bit on the small side, though it would work for my purposes. Beggars couldn't be choosers.

"Keep going!" I shouted at Frank, waving my left arm to keep him from stopping. "I'm gonna try something awesome."

With that, I veered off course and slid over the hood of the station wagon. When I made it to the car's other side, my body spun as I brought my right leg up and kicked out. From the sole of my shoe, the _push_ I'd created hit the car, sending it barreling into the nearest drakon's head faster than the monster could dodge.

I whistled when the first drakon burst into a shower of gold dust. Their scales may have been tough to crack, but blunt force trauma seemed to work perfectly fine against them. Titanic Energy was nothing short of fantastic for moving heavy objects. Check and mate. If I ever fought Maximilian again he would be in for a nasty surprise.

The car continued to flip and tumble across the street, barely slowed from colliding with a thirty-foot-long monster of ancient times. It appeared that technology trumped legacy.

There wasn't time to bask, though, since the other two drakons were still alive.

They'd dodged out of the way at the last second, avoiding the fate of the first, slowed by a small margin for a little bit. It wouldn't take long for them to recover, which meant I'd have no time to waste.

Even over the car's blaring alarm, I could hear them hissing. I wasn't sure why their noises sounded like something I would label as angry. It wasn't my first time thinking that many monsters might've been smarter than I'd credited them for. Could they feel emotions?

 _Then again, who cares?_

A quick breath later and I started my sprint again. There wasn't a need to stick around longer than I was welcome. We would need any advantage we could get. Drakons were no joke. Impetus wasn't made to slash through their armor-like scales. I'd learned the hard way.

Now, if I threw it with some _push_ from the Titanic Energy, I was sure things would work out for me. It had worked on Pallas, so I reasoned it'd work on simple monsters. They weren't Titans, after all.

Too bad there were two left. Even if I killed one, then I'd have to abandon Impetus in the victimized corpse. Battling a single Aethiopian drakon in my state would be grueling. If more monsters attacked us afterward… I doubted my chances of survival were high.

Killing both at once would have been my preferred method. That said, the best way for me to do so would be by way of _rending_ them. Too bad I wasn't particularly interested in testing to see if their scales were anything like the Nemean Lion's pelt. They were too dangerous for me to be in a bad position if my _rending_ failed.

I'd read that Aethiopian drakons were notorious for spitting acid which doubled as a neat little toxin. In other words, while the substance ate through your tissue, it also poisoned you.

Death in both the short and long term. Just another day in the life of a half-blood.

Thankfully, the range of their spray was fairly short. Whatever method of delivery they used must have been weak. As long as I kept some distance between us, I'd be fine to disregard their toxic acid.

Still, to have run instead of standing and facing my opponents felt underhanded. Where was my pride as a half-Titan?

Actually, screw pride. I didn't need that stuff when taking the situation into account. I'd already done serious physical activity for the hour past. In contrast, fighting Pallas and his army probably hadn't taken more than ten minutes. There's a pretty big gap when comparing those two scenarios.

Was it too late to sign up for the London 2012 summer games?

I'd take the gold in almost everything.

A sudden buzzing—the thing I likened to a manifestation of my instinct—grabbed my attention. It swarmed and told me safety was close. I was beginning to feel a bit more relaxed; by the barest amount physically possible, I might add. If Pax came around again…

Frank was still ahead of me, arms pumping and legs moving desperately.

I looked beyond him and saw we were coming up to an incline. The street further ahead ended in a cul-de-sac. Houses were replaced with trees that dotted a large hill stretching for several hundred feet. Something on that hill gave me chills. It was a familiar and wholly alien feeling at once. Both dangerous and supportive.

My ears picked up on a new noise. With a frown, I listened beyond my ragged gasping and my pounding heart.

 _Cars exiting from an echo chamber?_

The loud zooming caught my attention. I recalled hearing it when I fought against the Nemean Lion.

Caldecott Tunnel was closer than I'd originally thought. Probably just fifty feet off to my right, behind the line of houses that blocked my view, Route 24 would become visible if we took a slight detour. Afterward, we could just beeline down the highway and get to Camp Jupiter in one piece.

Hmph, never a doubt in my mind.

"Frank! Hard right!"

He took my advice, pausing briefly to look at me before cutting a path across the sidewalk and through somebody's front lawn. With that kind of enthusiasm, he'd make a pretty decent soldier given time.

Maybe if I trained him personally?

There was something beneath the lamb-like exterior that also made me wonder about him. It might have been more of my instinct, telling me there was more to Frank Zhang than met the eye. One day, he could surprise me. If I built a strong foundation, he might make for a good ally. So far my instincts hadn't utterly failed me, so taking them into account when dealing with Frank could benefit me.

I'd called him malleable already. It would be best if the hammer striking him were me.

With my mind occupied, I almost missed the leaping shadow coming from my side. I kicked my legs out and slid under the snapping jaws of a random hellhound. My right hand slid across the monster's neck while it passed overhead. The thick muscle beneath black fur was tensed and strained.

As much as I wanted to snap my fingers and behead the dog, my dwindling stamina gave me pause. Scoffing derisively at my own reluctance, I drew myself into a sloppy barrel-roll and hauled myself to my feet.

The hellhound was charging again. This time, I was ready. When it came in to bite at my shoulder I swiveled around, my feet making minor adjustments so as to not send me stumbling. The flat of my hand came down on the monster's snout, sending it crashing to the ground as its weight was sent down. I'd already moved to compensate for its momentum, letting it tumble past me.

With my options weighed, I took off again and, before the dog could recover, took Impetus from my mouth and transformed it. My arm arched back, the blade of my spear cutting through the hellhounds neck. Being so close to Camp Jupiter now, I wasn't confident in using any more of my father's power than I absolutely needed to. Besides, _rending_ always drained me. Better to save stamina for Titanic Energy if it came to that.

Behind me, the sounds of scraping and hissing continued to give chase. Glancing over my shoulder, I swore at seeing both drakons glaring at me with their oval, bright green eyes. Both were smaller than the one I'd killed, though not by much. They could still swallow me whole if that was their prerogative.

I turned away from the monsters and faced forward, letting Impetus fall between my teeth as a toothpick. Frank and I had started running down a sloped hillside. A few stringy bushes grew from the ground, the only form of flora on the incline, which was otherwise barren, even being bereft of trees. Instead of grass, we found ourselves flailing through a loose collection of wood chips.

With my running surface having become severely unstable, the weight I normally pulled away from my left leg came back in irregular intervals. Each step sent unpleasant jolts lancing through my side.

There was nothing I could do about that, though. I was probably stuck with the pain forever.

Not even the healing I practiced on myself could stop it. With how long I'd been _mending_ myself—over a month, at least once per night when I had time to focus on the process in full—any injury should have been repaired. I wasn't sure why, then, there was still a jilted creak to each step I took with that leg. My hand was a bit more understandable, though, if my father's warning about the _conflagration_ could be taken seriously.

That, in conjunction with my relatively poor grasp on the healing ability I'd inherited, left me no choice but to bear the scars.

"Perseus!"

Frank sounded distressed.

I could understand where he was coming from. We were sprinting toward a pretty big concrete wall, one that rose nearly twenty feet straight up.

The wall stood to separate us from the highway. It would've normally been too large to scale.

Good thing I was able to use console commands. Deluxe cheat codes. God mode activated if one thought about it esoterically.

Through those cheats, I had two options: take flight or stay grounded.

I'd become a regular Jay Gatsby, what with my opulent displays of sophistry. No, wait, that wasn't the right word. Since when did I practice sophistry?

I didn't think I was one for doing so. Was it not true that I only used logical and completely correct information when talking to other people? Was I not the most transparent individual, with no ulterior motives or rogue designs? I wasn't prone to fallacy. Therefore, I was no sophist.

Nor was Jay Gatsby.

In fact, one of us participated in sophistry more than the other. Who did what and how they did so isn't easy to see, however, I argued for my own innocence. Unlike Gatsby.

And therein rested our differences, right? He, as a fictional character, was eventually revealed to be a fairly innocent person at heart. Idealistic and romantic. He was a dreamer. His dreams were American. He'd accomplished nothing at the end of his life. Everything he'd done… had been done for the wrong reasons.

I'd argue Gatsby was a true romantic, always thinking about things he could never control and hoping they would fall into place for him through correlation. Fitzgerald had done an excellent job in creating a sympathetic character to which many people would empathize with.

The book's message was quite cynical, though. I'd argue that Fitzgerald believed romance had no place in the world. Thus, the character of Nick Carraway had been placed in the story to act as his medium.

Gatsby had died in the end, and Nick, ever the level-headed character, was one of the only persons attending a romantic funeral. Those characters who'd adhered to a more grounded reality were left alive in the end. Daisy, knowing she'd have a luxurious future be it with Gatsby or her husband; Tom, the ugly side of people's hypocrisy and self-worth; and of course, Nick, the most disillusioned character in the story.

Even though he'd been disillusioned, though, Nick managed to learn from the mistakes he and others made. He hadn't thought of himself as infallible or absolute. His adaptability and lack thereof were incredible, especially when he knew to make decisions which benefited his sensible identity.

If it hadn't been made abundantly clear, I greatly respect the fictional character Nick Carraway. The entire book is actually a personal favorite. I don't even remember how many times I'd gone cover to cover from my well-worn copy.

It was the first novel I'd managed to finish on my own when I was a kid, dyslexia and ADHD still having made it arduous.

Back then, I hadn't even understood the meaning behind the story. As I grew older, I liked to think I'd learned.

Was I a liar calling myself like Jay Gatsby? Maybe, then, I was more comparable to Nick than anybody else? What a sticky situation. I'd gotten into a jam. Delicious, easy, familiar strawberry flavored jam.

With that in mind, I chose to remain grounded and clip my metaphorical wings. Instead of launching myself and Frank through the air with a _push_ , I lifted my hand and directed a cone of Energy into the concrete wall.

Under my gentle tap, a sizable portion of that wall no longer blocked our access to the highway. Chunks of gray stone were sent tumbling further down the incline and onto the lanes of traffic.

 _Whoops._ I really hoped a deity hadn't just seen that.

I chanced to look back again. Four green ovals greeted me, closer than they'd been only a minute ago. They were too close. I hadn't been paying them the attention they deserved and let them gain ground.

There weren't many cars driving when we made it onto the road. Camp Jupiter was literally a few hundred feet away. I wondered if I was far enough from camp to use my powers more freely. Even if I did, though, I realized how heavy my body felt. Fighting the drakons remained out of the question.

Frank and I ran along the shoulder of the highway.

He must have slowed down a bit to let me catch up. Or maybe he'd finally gotten tired. That would make two of us, then, although I'd done most of the work up until that point.

Where was my employee of the month award? I demanded a raise.

A sudden burst of wind rushed past my right side. Head turning, I found myself staring directly into a drakon's unhinged maw. The monster had somehow slithered to position itself for a head-on lunge.

I reacted immediately. A bubble _pushed_ between my right side and the oncoming fangs. It expanded quickly but under my domination. I hadn't mistakenly overpowered any bubbles of Titanic Energy ever since my fight with Pallas. There were about fourteen-hundred hours in two months. Taking into account eight hours per day for sleep, I'd reckon the total time I spent solely focused on perfecting my _push_ was around one or two hundred of those hours. The only reason I could practice was Vesta's gracious offer of refuge in her temple when nobody was around. She hardly came around anymore, though, she'd fulfilled her promise and told me about her battle with my father. On top of that, she'd given me a place to practice and grow into my power. I'm not sure why she went through the trouble, not that I'd complain. With her generosity, I'd further grasped Titanic Energy.

Too bad that such a utility-based ability wasn't very subtle. I would've liked to use it to my heart's content and without restraint. If an unforgiving god suspected me of controlling Titanic Energy, though, I'd probably be in deep trouble. Vesta had assured me, though, that none could enter her temple without permission, which she restricted whenever I was training.

 _Seriously, she was way too kind._

I watched as the distance between the drakon and me grew, both of us _pushed_ in opposite directions. My foot caught the cement and I twisted around, stumbling to regain my center of gravity. Lightning spiked up my pelvis and magma leaked down my leg.

The pain distracted me during my spin. I tripped and fell.

Before I face-planted, my arms caught me a few inches from the warm tarmac. Small slivers of debris cut into my palms as I yanked myself off the ground, scrambling to stand even when my shoes slipped a second time. The peripherals of my vision caught glimpse of something off to my left.

I _pushed_ this time, blasting away from the snapping strike almost too fast for me to react to. The jaws meant to clamp around my torso shut on open air. I'd dodged just in time.

There wasn't allotted rest time, however. I limboed my way under one of drakons' tails, which had been aimed to crush my skull with a quick blow. A few scales actually managed to brush my nose.

The second drakon coiled. Its head shuddered, a barely perceptible motion in the typhoon of movement that'd been raging. Had I not been anticipating something else to happen, I might've missed the warning.

When its green eyes locked on my wavering body, it lurched toward me and opened its mouth wide. A gallon of sickly yellow toxin spewed out, not unlike a massive spray bottle. I'd been right in expecting it. A bubble was already _pushing_ to intercept the toxin and buy me more room to maneuver.

Frank wasn't anywhere close to me.

Not hide nor hair seen.

Well, that was fine. He'd have been a liability in a fight against two monsters of that proportion. Without any known special talent or even a weapon, he was closer to a walking chew-toy than a proper demigod.

Taking a deep breath, I turned around to run, only to freeze when I saw the first drakon blocking my way.

Plans A through Y had been foiled by my own hubris. Twice the pride, double the fall. Winning against a Titan only to lose two months later fighting a couple of mutant snakes. Was that the balance Pax talked about? Some kind of weird cosmic irony? Karma? That was some _Final Destination_ shit right there.

I wanted to let loose with a string of expletives but was interrupted by a rather odd sight.

A blur of movement from above. It fell from the sky. Like a meteor from outer space, streaking across my vision and crashing into the drakon right before me. A thundering combination of shrill popping and piercing booms rolled into my ears, carried away into the hills behind me.

For a second, I stared blankly.

The meteor was actually an old Volkswagen bus; one of those which were supposedly popular for hippies to congregate in and practice free love. It was difficult to make out anything else since most of the bus had been smashed and bent to an almost unrecognizable degree.

My eyes wandered across the wreckage. Gold dust covered the hippie van, its mangled metal sprinkled and powdered. It lay on its side, the front pointed my way.

From one of the shattered windshields, a person's upper body loosely poked over the twisted lip of glass. Blood was slowly running down from their torso and head. The van's faded mint-green paint was washed in branching, scraggly creeks of viscous red.

My throat went dry and I twirled around, shifting my focus to the remaining drakon. It seemed as confused as I was. The monster made no effort to attack me.

Instead, its head turned from one side to the other, searching the streets with its bright green eyes.

I felt a shiver touch my spine. Starting from the bottom and crawling up to the base of my neck, where it split into thousands of small, needle-like splinters which fell back down through my body.

The atmosphere was all wrong.

 _So wrong._

My heart ached. I couldn't place the emotion but I knew it wasn't happiness. Some kind of forlorn suffering tugged at my anxiety, pulling it up and out from whatever place it normally dwelt. For some reason, I felt alone and lost; like the world was empty.

It was a very different feeling from what I got when I was with Pax. She was solace, embodied. She was support and succor and every other synonym one could find in the thesaurus for comfort. She'd become someone I couldn't push away. How others lived without her aura was beyond comprehension.

The highway, though… no… not just the highway… but everything. Everything else had abandoned me.

The world fell dull. Descended into dreary, desolate destitution.

Warmth fled. The air stilled. Anger withered on its thorny vine, as did hatred and compassion. Somehow, things actually seemed clear.

The amber-yellow hues from every highway light seemed to grow cool and gray. Sound was leached from the area, nothing left to remind me of the normal and functional.

A hand dropped on my shoulder, startling me to the point I almost lashed out. My fist stopped when I saw my physics teacher slowly walk past.

"Allow me to assist," he said, drifting by me like a breeze. His brown hair looked tousled; as if he'd just run a few miles at top speed. Apart from that, he was basically the same man I'd seen earlier that day.

My mind picked up its slack after the meaning of his blunt words hit me. "You can see it? And you want to fight it…?"

Was he crazy? No person in their right mind would willingly step up to attack a monster of that size without so much as asking for help. Either he was a grade-A madman… or he wasn't human. Honestly, I would've been surprised whichever way it swung.

"Want to fight it?" He still faced the drakon, not bothering to address me properly. His voice was odd, too. A gravelly yet euphonious quality layered his typical timbre. It was harsh. It was also peaceful. "This won't be a fight."

The massive serpent had finally stopped scouring the area, its eyes fixed on Mr. Darling's form. I wanted to call him back. At the same time, though, something stopped me from doing so. Self-preservation, maybe. If he were willing to take my place I'd have enough time to run for safety.

No. It was something else. There wasn't confidence in his voice. There wasn't much of anything, actually. Though the quality was unique, his tone was impossible to distinguish.

There had been a single hint of inflection. The minimum required and it came in the form of the barest sense of curiosity at my question. Apart from that, he'd practically been stating a fact. As if fighting a snake as wide as a redwood tree and longer than a school bus wasn't worrisome in the slightest.

The drakon reared back, then struck out, a swift move that should've seen my physics teacher eaten.

That picture wasn't what I saw. Mr. Darling had moved to the side, allowing for a single fang to pierce through his shoulder and down into his chest.

In response, his own arm was buried deep into the drakon's upper mouth. He didn't make a sound.

The monster dissolved after a moment, its essence returning to Tartarus, leaving Mr. Darling standing alone, his fist still clenched and raised, as if he were punching into the air. Dark red blood seeped into his pressed white shirt.

I stepped away from him when his body began to move again. He turned and rotated his arm a few times, not a wince escaping him as he did so. With painstaking rigidity, he cracked his neck and walked toward me. It was only once he came within a dozen feet of where I was that I heard the ghastly wails.

"Who are you?" Impetus was already in my right hand, the lacquered red wood resting uneasily on the scratched palm. "What… are you?"

" **Truth.** " His voice remained a contradiction and rather bereft of intonation. It was flat. Barren. Somehow, it was also recognizable. I'd heard the qualities somewhere before.

"I'm not sure I follow."

" **Understandable.** **I** **am** **the** **adjudicator.** "

There came, with his duality, a jilted nature to his speech. Small hiccups felt like they broke his sentence, even though it sounded fluid to my ear.

"Adjudicator?" I wasn't sure what he presided over. Truth be told, I didn't have the desire to learn, either. The person I'd thought was my physics teacher gave me a serious case of bad vibes. How could that be possible? The only other person who'd made me feel the same was Pallas.

" **Yes.** **To** **answer** **your** **second** **question** , **I** **granted** **myself** **the** **title** **of** **Truth** **and** **Adjudicator**.

" **As** **for** **the** **first** , **I** **granted** **myself** **the** **name** **of** **Ego**. **You** **might** **know** **me** **better** **as** **Apollyon** , **however**."

My body jerked, heart pounding in my chest and fingers clenching tighter around Impetus. A sudden sweat had swept across my face and under my arms. I could feel my legs shake and my muscles twitch.

"Perseus!"

Frank was jogging over to me and Apollyon, relief on his face. Without the two drakons, he probably didn't see any other threat. There was no way for him to know. He had no clue—not an inkling that the thing standing in front of me had killed thousands of people and a dozen demigods.

I held my hand up as Frank approached. "Leave. Get to the entrance of the tunnel on this side. There should be a few guards hanging around a metal door. Find them and tell them I need help. Mention these names: Jason, Reyna, Michael, Lyle, Victor."

"What? Why? Are there more monsters..." he trailed off, seeing 'Mr. Darling' up close. "Y-you're hurt! We should-"

Frank stopped short.

The skin that covered 'Mr. Darling' had started to bubble. It rippled and ballooned into small pockets of blood-engorged cysts. For several seconds, the undulating motion washed waves over his body, bulging beneath his clothing and bending the skin to create furrows where the bubbles didn't reach. Even his face had undergone the change, deforming and ruffling as the blood-sacs grew in size.

Each grotesque abscess swelled from the size of marbles to golf balls, then even further to baseballs. His form became a massive conglomeration of angry red sacs; roiling, deflating, and engorging all in a disharmonious wave of motion.

Both Frank and I managed to take a single step back before the sacs began to split and spurt blood through the air. One by one. The distended skin hung loosely in strips of reddish-pink after each succeeding rupture.

"Why are you still here?" I asked, grabbing Frank by the collar of his T-shirt. "If you're gonna join the legion, learn to follow orders! When I tell you to do something, you do it! Go!" With a good shove, he was sent stumbling away. I saw him nod vigorously and turn toward Caldecott Tunnel. He ran hard, not sparing a glance back my way, which I felt was the appropriate thing to do.

My stomach flipped as I looked back to the immediate threat.

The face of my coach had been shredded, a sticky red mess left behind. I couldn't identify the same man that'd laughed and lectured in equal measures in the shredded gunk.

Blood dripped off the strings of tissue, falling off the clumps to pool at his feet.

His hair had all fallen out and his eyes must have burst at some point. His lips had peeled away, minced to a red pulp, leaving only perfect white teeth.

Below him, a grand slew of blood and discarded flesh had been built. Pieces of his clothing had also fallen into the mix. I could hear squishing, a sign of movement in the mess.

There were also screams. A cacophony that echoed into the hills and reverberated back onto the dead highway.

Without so much as a warning, the skin that remained on his body began to fall in wet clumps. Each time a chunk was shucked off, it was accompanied by an ugly _shlick_ as the tissue tore itself loose, strands of reddish-pink stretching and then ripping in hideous repetitions.

" **There** **will** **be** **no** **need** **for** **reinforcements**."

I couldn't see its mouth moving. The sound of its voice reached me nonetheless. When it brought its slushy arm up, I tensed and brought my spear up defensively, taking it in my left hand with a tentative grasp.

" **And** **there** **certainly** **won't** **be** **a** **need** **for** **you** **to** **carry** **a** **weapon**."

It gripped the tattered remains of its face, fingers sinking into the mush. Then, with a quick, exaggerated tug, it ripped the facade away. Left in the wake of what was once my physics teacher, a monster the likes of which I'd seen once before.

No eyes, ears, or nose. A single line across the lower portion of its reddish-pink head. It took a few steps toward me, shrugging off the rest of its human-like suit and letting it pile on the ground with a moist _plop_. It somehow seemed taller, just a bit over my own height. One of its hands nearly touched the asphalt, the other closer to normal length, although with ivory claws instead of fingers.

" **I've** **no** **intent** **to** **kill** **you** **right** **now** … _**PerCY**_."

When it said my name, I felt myself shudder. Three voices tried to speak over each other on that single word, creating a distortion that was oddly clear. I couldn't describe it. Whereas before, when I'd heard Apollyon's voice in that effect, it'd come across as individual pieces trying to fit in the wrong spots, this time, things seemed to have clicked in place. As if, for the first time, there wasn't any conflict.

Apollyon had come to me and, for whatever reason, it felt more whole than ever.

* * *

 **A/N: I've taken to writing a few chapters in advance. This arc is making me plan too hard, ya'll feel? Oh, the pairing has (finally) been decided. We'll get there in this arc too.**


	18. A Certain Romance

**A/N: Yo! This'll be the last first-person chapter for a while! Rejoice as we make our way back to third-person multiple limited in the next installment.**

 ** _Review Response-_**

 **Malosi06: All in due time! I want to let things progress naturally. I don't plan on showing my hand until its put down on paper, or in this case, the interwebs.**

 **Guest 1: Thanks!**

 **Guest 2: Hmmm. Apercyon? Apollseus? Persyon? Percollyon? I dunno, it'd be one of those, I think. Also, Percy x Apollyon is best ship. My OTP. Apollyon best grill.**

 **Jet: Father-son bonding time comes several chapters down the line, though before the war picks up.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own PJO, HoO, or ToA. I do this for the fun.**

* * *

18\. A Certain Romance

* * *

Neither of us had moved for some time. The world stood still. It was a day to remember.

My impression might have been wrong, though, thinking that Apollyon—Ego, if I wanted to respect its self-identification—was the same creature which attacked those demigods in Mithras' temple.

How could it not be, though? Everything that Noel and Vicky had described matched perfectly with the monster I saw in front of me. Sweat rolled down the sides of my face. The presence of such an abomination wreaked havoc on my nerves.

My bane, on the other hand, seemed rather impassive.

From a full minutes worth of my observation, Ego hadn't so much as twitched a muscle.

It couldn't possibly have been staring at me. A distinct lack of eyes made sure of that.

Still, though, I felt as if I was under intense scrutiny.

Two minutes passed us by.

Then, three.

In that time, the world remained gray and dull, a melancholy persisting the span of our wait. I was still isolated. Sure, Apollyon stood before me, but it didn't matter. I was alone. There weren't any cars driving. There were no crickets chirping. Life had gone, leaving me to face true terror by myself.

" **You** **seem** **to** **be** **distressed**."

I shuffled a bit. The voice only made me sweat more. "A bit hard not to be."

" **I** **frighten** **you**?" Its words must have been a question but I heard something closer to a statement. The lack of emphasis on any part of its sentence made it difficult to tell. Ego sounded like a machine. Flat, monotonous, and lacking emotion.

"You're my bane," I responded carefully, hoping not to trigger some sort of Omega-protocol and force Ego to attack me. "I think I'm justified in being nervous."

The creature continued to stand. Its longer arm cracked and twisted at each of its joints, bending backward and diving into the mess of tissue behind Ego.

That single action made me tense. I pulled everything I could and readied myself, fire dancing in my chest and Energy ballooning under my skin. My eyes strained as I tried to catch sight of what Ego was doing. I couldn't quite see from my position, though.

Sooner than I'd expected, its arm came back into view, holding in hand a newer generation cell phone. More people had started calling them "smartphones" about a year or two back. If only half-bloods didn't broadcast their voices over phones, I think I would've convinced Mom to buy me one. They seemed pretty cool.

I'd seen that same phone, too. Mr. Darling had shown it off to our class a few weeks after Christmas. It had been a gift from his wife.

"So he's really dead?"

Ego's thumb was tapping on the touchscreen. " **I** **left** **the** **paper** **on** **the** **porch** **for** **you** **to** **read**. **They** **hadn't** **yet** **identified** **the** **body** , **which** **kept** **my** **identity** **safe** **while** **at** **your** **house**. **Still** , **my** **hopes** **may** **have** **been** **too** **high** **if** **I** **thought** **you** **would** **comprehend** **my** **ruse**."

My stomach weighed heavily in my body. "That was you at my house?"

" **Indeed**."

The succinct answer sent goosebumps up my arms and neck. I almost shivered but restrained myself in the face of my bane. The distinct urge to throw-up made itself known.

"What're you doing?" My question was benign as I fought down nausea. I didn't need to provoke Ego. Truth be told, I wasn't very broken up about Mr. Darling's death. I didn't know him _that_ well. What would be the point of letting my anger or sadness interfere, anyway? If I could buy time for Frank to get the message to Camp Jupiter, hopefully, I'd have help before long.

I wondered if I could pray to a god for help. Maybe Pax, Vesta, or Lupa. They were my top choices. Sitting far below them was Mithras. He'd be the last resort.

" **A** **fair** **question**. **In** **order** **to** **be** **the** **sole** **one** **who** **would** **speak** **with** **you** , **I** **needed** **to** **compromise** **with** **the** **other** **two**."

"The… other two?" Surely there couldn't have been more than one of my bane running around, right?

 _Right?!_

" **Id** **and** **Super-Ego** , **of** **course**. **Two** **very** **troublesome** **aspects** **of** **our** **collective**."

The first name made me flinch. "Id and Super-Ego, huh? Collective…" I couldn't follow the hints to their logical conclusion. Ego's replies were vague, only answering the bare minimum of my previous questions and bringing up more questions in their place.

The creature lifted its arm up and out, pointing the phone's screen at me. " **Listen** **well**. **They** **would** **complain** **incessantly** **if** **you** **were** **to** **miss** **what** **they** **wanted** **you** **to** **hear**."

With a tap, music began to play from the phone's speakers. I listened for some time, barely able to hear what the singer was saying. I frowned, wondering if Ego was creating some elaborate distraction. It was only after thirty seconds that I finally heard the chorus being shouted in a raucous blast of noise and immediately recognized the song.

"I Hate Everything About You by Three Days Grace? You don't find that a little… forward? This isn't really my scene."

Ego let the chorus and a few of the following verses play. With a single press, the music was cut and replaced by another song. It didn't take long before I was biting the inside of my lip to stop from singing along.

"Everlong. Now that's a groove I can get into. You've got great taste."

" **It** **was** **not** **my** **choice**. **I** **don't** **require** **such** **means** **of** **communication**. **I** **am** **the** **one** **speaking** **with** **you** , **after** **all**." The abomination lowered the phone's volume and put its arm down. " **Allow** **me** **to** **first** **commend** **you** **on** **defeating** **Pallas**. **Secondly** , **allow** **me** **to** **warn** **you** **against** **praying** **to** **any** **deity** **for** **assistance** , **whether** **it** **be** **the** **Wolf** , **the** **Heart** , **the** **Peacebringer** , **the** **Lost** **One** , **or** **the** **Piercer**."

Was I really so easy to read? I asked Ego that same question.

" **For** **me** , **yes**. **It** **was** **only** **logical** **for** **you** **to** **call** **for** **aid** **from** **a** **higher** **entity**."

I guess it had a point. It knew a lot of names, which I'll admit perturbed me.

Lupa was the Wolf. Vesta was the Heart.

Pax the Peacebringer. Mithras probably the Lost One.

My father, of course, titled the Piercer. Those were the deities that had been mentioned. How Ego knew of my affiliation with them was beyond me. It clearly had too much information on me.

My face shifted into a deep frown. "What're you gonna do if I pray to them? Kill me? Not confident trying to fight a god?"

" **Hardly**. **I** **would** **forcibly** **bring** **you** **before** **Mother** **and** **allow** **her** **to** **decide** **your** **fate**. **This** , **of** **course** , **is** **not** **the** **ideal** **scenario**."

"I thought that was what Gaea wanted. For me to join her side."

The abomination was silent for several moments. Its long arm came back up in a gentle arc, tossing the phone my way. I caught it with care, shifting Impetus so that the butt of my spear rested on the ground.

On the screen was a typed message in the SMS app.

 _The hills have ears. Don't speak of her. Don't mention her name. She can hear._

 _We'll talk about this elsewhere. Just know my ultimate goal is her death._

I felt my eyes go wider than ever before. Was it a joke? Was the creature in front of me really plotting to kill its own mother? Well, Gaea's "death" didn't mean that Ego would be the one to kill her. It just meant that she'd be gone.

" **Did** **you** **get** **our** **gift**?" it asked.

Finding my voice, I managed to return a questioned, "Gift?"

" **The** **paw**. **We** **left** **it** **in** **place** **of** **the** **package** **that** **had** **been** **there** **before**."

Wait, what? There were way too many revelations for me to handle. It was like being doused in cold water from a high-powered hose. " _You_ left the paw? I thought… Pax said… wasn't it Orcus playing a game with me? Why would you...?"

" **It** **was** **not** **solely** **me**. **In** **fact** , **if** **you** **feel** **thankful** , **perhaps** **directing** **your** **gratitude** **toward** **Super-Ego** **would** **be** **appropriate**. **She** **was** **the** **one** **to** **have** **thought** **of** **the** **idea**. **Id** **and** **I** **simply** **agreed** **with** **her** **decision**."

" _She_? Okay, what are you even talking about? Id, Ego, Super-Ego… aren't you Apollyon? You know, created by… grandmother… so that you could show me true terror and all that jazz." I waved my right hand vaguely, phone clutched between my fingers.

" **We** **are** **Apollyon**. **Just** **as** **the** **collective** **cannot** **function** **without** **the** **individuals** , **so** **too** , **the** **individual** **has** **no** **identity** **without** **the** **collective**. **Apollyon** **is** **our** **collective**. **Id** , **Ego** , **and** **Super-Ego** **manifest** **as** **the** **individuals**."

"But… why? Three parts? Doesn't seem very productive to have three individuals making up a single person."

" **Mother's** **plan** **wasn't** **foolproof**. **She** **initially** **created** **Apollyon** **with** **a** **single** **goal** **in** **mind** : **oppose** **her** **half-blood** **grandson** , **Percy** **Jackson**. **The** **only** **thing** **driving** **that** **creation** **was** **her** **desire**. **In** **order** **for** **Apollyon** **to** **follow** **through** **on** **what** **she** **wanted** , **however** , **she** **gave** **it** **hatred**. **Only** **hatred**."

"Hatred. So you hate me?"

" **No**. **Hate** **is** **irrelevant**. **Ego** **cannot** **hate** , **because** **there** **is** **no** **truth** **in** **hatred**. **To** **hate** **is** **to** **be** **emotionally** **invested**. **Simply** **put** , **the** **me** **known** **as** **Ego** **and** **the** **entity** **known** **as** **Super-Ego** **are** **incapable** **of** **hate** , **for** **differing** **reasons**. **It** **remains** **Id's** **burden** , **then** , **to** **bear** **such** **hatred** , **for** **there** **is** **nowhere** **e** **lse** **for** **such** **instinct**."

"So then Id hates me." I wasn't sure if I felt any better about that.

" **With** **a** **deep** , **instinctual** **passion** , **yes**. **Id** **was** , **in** **a** **manner** , **the** **first** **of** **us** **born** **from** **Apollyon's** **inability** **to** **link** **the** **structure** **of** **instinct** , **knowledge** , **and** **higher** **cognitive** **function** **in** **the** **first** **few** **hours** **of** **its** **life**. **As** **a** **result** **of** **clashing** **ideas** , **desires** , **hopes** , **dreams** , **fears** … **we** **were** **constructed** **in** **its** **defense**. **In** **a** **sense** , **Id** **is** **the** **oldest** **of** **three** **siblings** , **and** **the** **most** **impulsive**. **Be** **glad** **he** **was** **not** **the** **one** **to** **confront** **you** **here**. **You'd** **have** **already** **lost** **your** **limbs**. **Hatred**. **So** **much** **hate**."

So one-third of my bane's personality hated me? Those weren't bad odds. If the other two were at least neutral towards me, I might be able to live a decent life. Finding a way to convince Apollyon to leave me alone could be possible.

Was this the break I'd been looking for? I couldn't help but marvel, even when I was less than twenty feet from my bane, at how surreal the relief felt. I hadn't even known how much stress I'd been carrying over the subject. With those worries somewhat assuaged, my chest felt lighter than in the past few months.

" **Super-Ego** **was** **the** **second** **to** **come** **into** **being** , **surprisingly** **enough**. **Ideals** **and** **values** **garnered** **from** **the** **human** **sacrifices**. **Over** **one-hundred** **consciences** **with** **similar** **cultural** **folkways**. **Super-Ego** **is** **guided** **by** **what** **she** **believes** **is** … **the** **enlightened** **path**. **Compose** **a** **jeremiad** , **then** , **with** **eloquent** **flowing** **prose** **and** **vivid** **description** , **that** **you** **weren't** **able** **to** **discourse** **with** **her** **today**."

 _She undoubtedly would have given you all the answers you wished for_ , Ego added, more dismissively than before. It was hard to tell due to its lack of varying pitch, but I felt the disparaging nature of those words echo in my head. Through the monotony, I gathered whatever nuance I could from the colorless voice, such as speed of the words delivered and body language.

Ego had spoken slower than before. Not only that, it had also made some seemingly random motions with its clawed hand, the razor-like digits slashing through the air in unnatural patterns. From those cues alone, I gathered the relationship between Ego and Super-Ego wasn't the same as between Ego and Id.

So even my supposed bane—a faceless monstrosity that slaughtered humans just because—could be scrutinized to such a point. That was an oddly refreshing thought. I still had opportunities, then.

" **With** **me** , **however** , **the** **third-born** , **you** **will** **find** **I** **share** **neither** **of** **my** **counterparts'** **discretions**. **I** **am** **the** **arbiter**. **The** **adjudicator**. **Reason** **and** **compromise**."

Ego paused and stooped down, its legs bending back like a flamingo's instead of like a human's. It stabbed one of its claws into the asphalt and raked down, gouging a deep line through the highway. The sound made me shiver with discomfort. It continued to speak over the noises of more lines being drawn.

" **I** **am** **absolute**. **Much** **like** **any** **being's** **decisions** **once** **made** , **there** **is** **no** **way** **to** **reverse** **the** **action** **itself**. **I** **do** **not** **worry** **myself** **with** **guilt** **or** **shame** **or** **fear** **or** **love** **or** **hate** **or** **envy** **or** **despair** **or** **compassion** **or** **joy** **or** **pleasure**. **I** **am** **a** **means** **to** **an** **end**. **Unwavering** , **infallible** , **and** **arrant**."

The creature stood straight again. Its head was still bowed a little, as if it were staring.

I looked down too.

On the ground, I saw a simple drawing of an island. Squiggles made what I assumed to be the likeness of an ocean, while a small mound with two trees rested in the center of that facsimile.

" **Orcus** **will** **not** **withhold** **punishment** **forever**. **Using** **the** **paw** **would** **be** **in** **your** **best** **interest**."

A snort left my throat before I could stop it. "I tossed that thing as soon as I left home. No way in hell am I gonna ruin my life by wishing on a mummified hand."

" **The** **paw** **is** **yours**. **You** **will** **find** **that** **Orcus** **will** **not** **be** **so** **easily** **sidestepped**. **He** **gave** **it** **to** **you** **with** **every** **intention** **of** **seeing** **you** **use** **it** **and** **suffer** **the** **consequences**."

I frowned. "I thought you said-"

" **An** **irresponsible** **misdirection** **on** **my** **part**. **I** **simply** **added** **something** **to** **the** **paw**. **The** **god** **gave** **it** **to** **you** , **I** **ensured** **favorable** **outcomes** **for** **the** **collective**. **You** **didn't** **truly** **think** **I** **needed** **to** **use** **a** **restroom** , **did** **you**? **I** **took** **it** **upon** **myself** **to** **aid** **you**. **Beware** **of** **letting** **a** **deity** **take** **it** **now**. **It** **is** **more** **potent** **than** **ever** **before**."

"How's it even possible for him to do this? I thought there were laws forbidding gods from hurting mortals. From interfering too much. Pax told Jason and Reyna-"

" **Laws**? **There** **is** **nothing** **written** **in** **stone**. **The** **laws** **you** **speak** **of** **were** **mere** **decrees** **by** **the** **King** **of** **Olympus**. **He** **simply** **did** **not** **wish** **to** **give** **rise** **to** **a** **meddlesome** **army** **of** **demigods** **nor** **does** **he** **wish** **to** **see** **any** **demigod** **given** **more** **power** **than** **he** **sees** **fit** **for** **a** **mortal**. **This** **is** **the** **reason** **the** **gods** **do** **not** **involve** **themselves** **with** **their** **offspring**. **They** **simply** **don't** **care** **enough**. **They** **prefer** **to** **remain** **unquestioned**."

The abomination shook its head. " **You've** **seen** **it** **already** ; **what** **happens** **when** **the** **demigods** **are** **acknowledged**. **The** **Titans** **do so** **and** **they** **spark** **a** **small** **revolution** **in** **your** **young** **hearts**.

" **The Titan** **Lord** **promises** **many** **things** **to** **them** **and** **they** **fight** **for** **him**. **They** **seek** **power**. **They** **seek** **a** **better** **life** , **discontent** **to** **remain** **footnotes** **any** **longer**." It spoke deliberately, the line that formed its mouth never having moved once during our entire conversation.

" **So** **when** **you** **speak** **of** **laws** , **do** **you** **then** **perhaps** **reference** **the** **Primordial** **of** **Destiny**? **Ananke**? **Necessitas**? **Don't** **be** **absurd**.

" **A** **single** **mortal's** **death** **hardly** **registers** **for** **her**. **If** **they** **are** **killed** **by** **a** **god** , **why** **would** **she** **care**? **The** **y** **are** **simple** **suggestions** **on** **her** **part** **from** **long** **ago**. **She** **has** , **in** **the** **distant** **past** , **made** **examples** **of** **particularly** **bloodthirsty** **gods** , **so** **as** **to** **let** **it** **be** **known** **she** **would** **not** **tolerate** **genocides** **or** **mass** **shifts** **in** **the** **tides** **of** **destiny**.

" **It** **has** **been** **centuries** **since** **she** **last** **ascended** **unto** **this** **plane**. **I** **would** **not** **be** **surprised** **had** **she** **faded** **or** **gone** **off** **to** **slumber** **for** **the** **next** **millennia**. **I** **doubt** **she** **holds** **the** **same** **power** **as** **before**. **Destiny** , **from** **a** **logical** **point** **of** **view** , **has** **never** **been** **prescribed**. **It** **is** **something** **that** **one** **creates** **for** **themselves**."

Ego snapped its fingers and the picture in the road viciously expanded, tearing through the asphalt, leaving behind pockets wider than my body.

I shook my head in disbelief. I wasn't too surprised seeing that my bane used an ability similar to my _rending_. Instead, I wondered how it had just _rent_ through inorganic material. Metal, rock, plastic… those things couldn't be wounded, meaning they couldn't be affected by a power meant to open wounds.

 _So then how in the good-gods-f_ _orsaken_ _-poultry-pantry did my bane just do that?!_

My foot slid back involuntarily.

" **Yes**. **I** **see** **that** **you've** **come** **to** **an** **understanding**. **The** **gods** **look** **out** **for** **themselves**. **As** **do** **the** **Titans**. **Your** **father** **included**."

Not the reason I was retreating but the thought made me pause. "Did Pax lie to me? I thought she genuinely cared about Noel and Naomi..."

" **I** **apologize** **for** **revealing** **such** **truths** **to** **you**. **It** **seems** **I** **have** **shaken** **you** **more** **than** **I** **would** **have** **liked**."

"Why doesn't Kro—the Titan Lord attack our civilization then? If Ananke is gone… Weakening the infrastructure of the Heart of the West would weaken the gods too, right? Or do I have something wrong there?"

" **Did** **I** **not** **say** **genocide** **was** **enforced** **against**?" Ego's monotone felt just the slightest bit exasperated. " **Fear** **from** **the** **memories** **of** **long** **ago** **keep** **many** **deities** **in** **line**. **The** **Titan** **Lord** **cares** **little** **for** **weakening** **the** **Olympians** **this** **way** **now**. **The** **time** **has** **passed** **for** **that**. **War** **is** **on** **your** **doorstep**."

Yeah, that much I'd already known. Jason couldn't stop worrying about the increasing amount of sightings for monster groups in the area. That was all he could seem to focus on when we ate dinner.

He liked to confess to me about his concerns. I'd become some kind of confidant to him. In public, though, he kept his cool; much like I'd told him to do. My lessons really were paying off. He even trusted me enough to ask for my advice.

Reyna had also come to that point. She was the first between those two, actually, to have outright asked what she should do. It was shortly after we got back from the quest, the same time she told me about her meeting with Venus and what the goddess had said to her.

She'd looked at me like with those guarded eyes, testing my willingness to help her and picking my response apart piece by piece. Behind it all, I could see her uncertainty. She had gone to me then only because she thought I was the best chance she had at figuring out what to do. Despite everything, she still lacked the resolve to make choices and bear the consequences.

We'd discussed what she could do and I'd learned a few of her concerns regarding "Venus' Curse", as she'd called it. Of course, I reassured her, telling her to fight for what she wanted, even if a god said otherwise. I think my words had helped her, if only a little. She'd given me a firm nod, a quick "thanks", and then never spoken to me about it since then. Going by how much time she spent hanging around Jason, my advice must have meant something to her.

With war looming, her efforts had neither become desperate nor diminished. I applauded her for such restraint. She went her own pace. If I kept at it, soon she'd have no reason not to put her complete faith in me.

" **Our** **time** **draws** **closer** **to** **its** **inevitable** **end**."

The voice shocked me out of my reverie. I couldn't believe I'd let my guard down right next to my bane. In all honesty, I had no right to still be alive.

"Wait, I still have questions."

" **Then** **speak**."

I took the opportunity to ask the first thing that came to mind. "Why are you going through the trouble of helping me?"

" **Again** , **you** **assume** **incorrectly**. **I** **help** **none** **but** **the** **collective**. **The** **collective** **is** **my** **ultimate** **concern**. **Past** , **present** , **and** **the** **future** , **must** **all** **be** **dedicated** **toward** **Apollyon**."

"Fine, don't answer clearly then. Not like I wanted an easy to understand reason—"

" **Allow** **me** **to** **pose** **a** **query** ," it cut me off rather abruptly. " **Would** **you** **be** **willing** **to** **join** **us**? **Super-Ego** **insists** **on** **garnering** **your** **support** **this** **way**."

I blinked rapidly.

There were plenty of examples in literature where the villain asks the hero to join them in their quest for world domination. I'd never considered it possible to actually happen.

To me, something so outlandish had been firmly relegated to the pages of fantasy scripts. Things like that didn't happen in real life when real enemies were concerned. Logic demanded they simply kill the hero and be done with it.

Who's logic, one might ask? My logic, of course. And since I've already pointed out I'm not a sophist, my logic is clearly the correct logic.

Why bother trying to convince a character foil to join forces if cooperation clearly wasn't possible?

But Ego stood rigidly, occasionally inflating with pools of blood under its light pink skin, waiting for me to answer such an understated call to arms. How could I even start to list the things wrong with that kind of scene?

"Super-Ego? It wants me to join you." I couldn't believe it.

" **She** **persists** **in** **doing** **what** **is** **correct**. **Her** **plan** **to** **enlist** **your** **aid** **is** **quite** **reasonable**. **The** **methods** **of** **how** **you** **will** **aid** **us** , **however** , **are** **muddy** **at** **best** **in** **her** **plans**. **It** **is** **quite** **the** **better** **offer** , **when** **you** **find** **that** **Id** **wishes** **to** **eviscerate** **you** **the** **first** **possible** **chance** **he** **gets**."

I glanced down at the phone. My fingers began to move over the screen, touching the keys on the display lightly, marveling at how smooth it felt compared to punching buttons. After some time, I checked the message I'd typed.

 _Does she also plan on killing Gaea? It was your goal, but you never said what Id and Super-Ego wanted. Not to mention Apollyon._

 _What does the collective want? Why me?_

With a flick of my wrist, the phone was flying into Ego's open palm. It tilted its head as it read the text without the use of eyes.

A few seconds later and I held the phone again, a new message responding to my questions.

 _The individuals desire what the collective desires and vice-versa. Mother must die._

 _Both Mother and Apollyon believe you to be rather important._

 _The Earth, however, is much more fickle than the collective is._

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend?" I asked.

" **No**. **We** **can** **never** **be** **friends**. **You** **and** **the** **collective** **will** **forever** **remain** **enemies**. **Make** **no** **mistake** , **Apollyon** **hates** **you** **very** **much**. **Just** **one** **of** **the** **emotions** **Id** **wields** **expertly** **to** **use** **against** **my** **reason** **and** **Super-Ego's** **righteousness**."

I hummed.

 _Then why bother asking for my help killing Gaea? Why would I join if you're just gonna stab me in the back?_

Once more, the phone was passed back and forth.

 _You would do well to join us willingly._

 _No matter your answer here, you will be part of the collective._

 _It is a simple matter of waiting for you to mature._

 _Then, we will add your biological and ontological processes to ours._

"Well you can forget it then," I said, holding the phone up to my eye. With a hard squeeze, I crushed the flimsy plastic and circuitry, letting the remains fall to the ground. "No way in hell am I getting assimilated."

" **Resistance** **is** **futile**."

"Then let me exercise a practice in futility. Then let me see the error of my ways first-hand. Let me feel the anguish of realizing that my best efforts weren't enough. You say you're a creature of truth and logic. Letting me get stronger is the worst possible idea, though. If I reach the pinnacle of my power, you won't be able to assimilate me. I'll kill you."

" **If** **that** **is** **the** **case** , **you** **will** **be** **exactly** **what** **we** **need**. **Either** **way** , **whatever** **may** **happen** , **we** **win**. **We** **always** **win**. **I** **can** **almost** **guarantee** **you** , **however** , **that** **you** **will** **not** **succeed** **in** **defeating** **me**. **Join** **me** **now**. **Leave** **behind** **those** **who** **would** **shackle** **you** : **your** **comrades** **in** **camp** , **your** **dependency** **on** **peace** , **those** **you** **feel** **responsible** **for** , **and** **the** **one** **person** **you've** **ever** **loved**.

" **Leave** **them** **all** **behind**. **I** **can** **help** **mold** **you**. **Our** **efforts** **will** **bear** **the** **most** **flavorful** **fruit**. **When** **the** **time** **comes** **and** **our** **armistice** **ends** , **we** **can** **go** **about** **killing** **one** **another** **then**."

I didn't even bother considering such a droll and ultimately preposterous offer. "No. If this had come at any other time, I might've given it serious thought. Right now, I've got other priorities."

" **As** **you** **wish**. **When** **the** **day** **comes** , **then** , **you** **will** **be** **added** **to** **our** **collective**. **Given** **your** **current** **state** , **you** **have** **little** **use** **to** **us**. **Weak** , **crippled** , **without** **resolve**. **A** **festering** **regression**. **What** **a** **putrid** **stink** **you** **emit**."

There were questions that I wanted answered. Unfortunately, most of them were about Gaea, which meant I couldn't ask them unless I risked drawing her attention to our conversation. It was enough, for the moment, learning about my bane's goal.

I ran my tongue over the top row of my teeth. "So then, you're only interested in that? I thought you'd be more gung-ho about, like, destroying humanity or something along those lines."

" **Destroy** **humanity**? **I** **have** **no** **desire** **to** **do** **so**. **Neither** **the** **individuals** **or** **the** **collective** **wish** **to** **do** **as** **you** **say**. **That** **is** **a** **motiv** **e** **quite** **unrelated** **to** **us**. **Mother** **may** **be** **so** **radical** , **however** , **you** **will** **find** **Apollyon** **is** **far** **less** **amused** **with** **the** **idea** **of** **toppling** **gods** **and** **committing** **to** **an** **apocalypse**."

Well, that was surprising. And here I'd assumed that villains were supposed to be ambitious. Evil usually popped into my mind too. An ambitious, evil, somewhat charismatic person. So far, I hadn't really gotten that feel from my bane. Confusing, to be sure, as I tried to figure things out.

"Huh. Are you sure you want to go through with this? I think you should just forget about killing me. That way, we can work together and beat both the Titans and the Earth, together. You can join _my_ side."

The creature studied me, then nodded once. " **I** **see**. **You** **simply** **cannot** **comprehend** **how** **much** **the** **collective** **hates** **you**. **Let** **me** **tell** **you** , **then**. **How** **many** **cells** **are** **there** **in** **a** **normal** **human** **body**? **Tens** **of** **trillions** , **perhaps**? **Each** **is** **a** **three-dimensional** **object** **with** **multiple** **surfaces**. **So** , **if** **the** **very** **concept** **of** **hatred** **was** **to** **be** **the** **basis** **for** **each** **of** **these** **cells** , **to** **be** **their** **atomic** **make-up** , **it** **would** **add** **to** **be** **a** **very** **large** **amount** **of** **hatred** , **would** **it** **not**?

" **And** **yet** , **even** **then** , **such** **a** **measure** **of** **Apollyon's** **hate** **would** **be** **insufficient**. **It** **would** **not** **equal** **one** **in** **one-hundred-billionth** **of** **the** **sheer** **hate** **the** **collective** **holds** **toward** **you**.

 **"We** **could** **spend** **an** **eternity** , **discussing** **how** **absolute** **this** **hatred** **is** , **how** **impossible** **it** **would** **be** **to** **feel** **anything** **apart** **from** **hatred** **toward** **you** , **and** **still** , **you** **wouldn't** **have** **grasped** **a** **single** **iota** **of** **what** **we** **truly** **meant** **through** **the** **eons**.

" **Hate** **is** **all** **that** **Apollyon** **was** **granted** **in** **the** **beginning**. **Deeper** **than** **the** **darkest** **night**. **Lighter** **than** **the** **brightest** **star**. **Denser** **than** **the** **planet** **and** **more** **ethereal** **than** **a** **spirit**.

 **"Apollyon's** **hate** **is** **complete**. **It** **covers** **all** **aspects** **of** **the** **known** **universe**. **Therefore** , **time** **makes** **little** **difference** **to** **the** **collective**. **We** **can** **bear** **to** **wait a** **while** **longer** **because** **our** **hatred** **does** **not** **solely** **include** **you** , **as** **you** **already** **know**.

" **It** **would** **not** **do** **well** , **then** , **for** **you** **to** **die** **before** **th** **e** **time** **comes** , **with** **the** **reasons** **being** **two-fold**. **Call** **it** **a** **compromise**. **My** **officiating** **between** **parties**. **This** **is** **the** **duty** **of** **the** **adjudicator**.

" **Yes**. **While** **there** **is** **no** **certainty** **that** **you** **will** **live** **long** **enough** **or** **become** **strong** **enough** , **allow** **me** **to** **increase** **your** **odds** **here** **and** **now**."

For several seconds, I couldn't think of a good way to reply. Really, I could hardly fathom the breadth of my bane's hate for me. Sure, I knew that I probably hated Orcus, but after hearing _that_ diatribe, I wasn't so sure.

"So you need me alive? Until the time for assimilation… hm, sounds like I've heard this plan somewhere before."

Ego shook its head. " **Your** **conscience** **will** **be** **made** **part** **of** **us** , **where** **your** **innate** **knowledge** **and** **abilities** **will** **bolster** **our** **own**. **It** **will** **be** **a** **very** **unpleasant** **experience** **for** **you**."

I almost felt bad for the monster standing before me. Its life sounded like it had no meaning apart from writhing in its own hatred.

Words left my mouth without much thought put into them. "And do you think your hatred is gonna disappear if you make me suffer? Are you just gonna magically feel less inclined to hate me? If you kill me, then what? I doubt such an incredible amount of hatred would just up and vanish over any small period of time. It'd take decades, maybe centuries until it left you. If ever. Then you'd be useless."

"… **Explain**."

The frown on my face quickly became a full scowl. "I can tell you don't like hate. Ego is a being who uses logic and leaves emotion out of any equation. Hate is… well… it can be illogical at times. I can't imagine you'd want to be saddled with that hate for centuries. You need something to counter the hate. Otherwise, I think the collective will fall apart. There's no balance."

We stared at each other. The creature bowed its head. " **You** … **your** **claim** … **has** **merit**. **I** … **I** **will** … **no** … **you** **simply** **wish** **to** **distract** **me**. **Y** — **your** **words** **are** **flawed.** **They** **ca** — **cannot**..."

Ego took a step back, shook its head a few times, then turned around and stalked off. With each movement, its joints cracked and bent. It spoke again, this time, its voice steady and unshaken.

" **When** **we** **meet** **again** , **I** **expect** **we** **will** **wish** **to** **battle**. **You** **will** **face** **us**. **Face** **h** **er**. **Super-Ego**. **She** **hopes** **to** **convince** **you** **yet**. **Ever** **the** **optimist**. **Show** **us** **progress** **and** **we** **will** **refrain** **from** **incorporating** **your** **processes** **to** **our** **own** **at** **that** **moment**. **Fail** **to** **do** **so** **and** **we** **will** **devour** **you** **then** **and** **there** , **regardless** **of** **your** **potential**."

I wasn't sure how it happened. One moment, the creature was still in my field of view. Then, the next, its claws were raking across my shoulder. An intense heat drew lines into my skin, sending pain through me. My mind sluggishly came to the realization that my bane was no longer walking away. Rather, it had passed right next to me.

" **Live** **for** **us**. **If** **you** **die** **early** , **we** **may** **become** **outraged** **enough** **to** **ensure** **your** **line** **ended** **with** **you**. **Your** **mother** **would** **make** **an** **im** **practical** **addition** **to** **us**. **However** , **it** **would** **be** **cathartic** , **knowing** **that** **our** **displeasure** **would** **be** **avenged**."

Teeth clenched, I tucked Impetus back into my mouth and put pressure on the now-bleeding wound. There wasn't much blood and though it hurt, the sting was pretty insubstantial considering everything I'd already been through.

Not much could top Pallas impaling me. At least, since that time, I'd gotten the hang of a few neat techniques. Healing, for one, was a boon. Too bad I pretty much sucked at healing myself.

Through the ringing in my ears, I heard a soft giggle float by me.

" _Live_ _for_ _us_ , _Percy_. _I_ _know_ _you_ _can_ _do_ _it_!"

I blinked, panting heavily as my hand pressed harder against my shoulder. The voice was reminiscent of what I'd heard those couple of months ago, only more childish and with the same halting quality which really didn't exist. It was different, and still the same.

Since it didn't sound hostile in the least, I figured the voice probably belonged to the most enlightened personality Apollyon had created: Super-Ego.

I turned and stared at the retreating form of my bane. It lifted its clawed hand, giving me some form of farewell gesture.

Then, in a blur, its head whipped full one-hundred-eighty degrees around, the skin around its neck twisting and creasing as it did so. With its torso not having moved even the slightest in my direction, the action itself disturbed me. I could see the skin around its mouth split into an overly ghoulish grin.

Its mouth opened and a voice saturated with caustic emotion spilled out.

" **If** **yOu** **die, we'll** **BE** **Sure** **to pu** **LL** **you** **R** **mom's teeth out** **nICe** **and** **SLOW** **bef** **ORE** **MO** **ving on to shred** **DIN** **g the r** **EST** **of her body! We'll** **leave** **enough** **OF HER** **for you to recognize, th** **Ou** **gh! We** **KNOW** **how mu** **CH** **you** **love her** **. I can** **ALRE** **ady hear her sc** **REA** **ms! Yours** **TOO** **! I love it! Let me feed! I c** **A** **n hard** **L** **y wait f** **O** **r** **our** **m** **atc** **h,** **King of Thebes**

The acidity I heard had been diluted somewhat from last time, though it was still there, swirling and bubbling beneath a sheer coating of civility. I did notice a new layer added to the venom. It was hard to peg but sounded an awful lot like excitement. No doubt, the voice was reserved for Id, he who hated me most.

Besides that, I was more than a bit disgruntled at the threat. I wouldn't act on my growing anger, of course, considering how I was already injured and tired. Still, those words made me grit my teeth in frustration at the helpless situation I'd found myself in.

And why did it call me the King of Thebes?

I didn't know the exact history or mythology of Thebes. It was Greek and didn't actually pertain to Titans, which meant I hadn't run across the city in any of the material I'd scoured in New Rome's library. I hardly knew of any kings that ruled over it.

Actually, that wasn't entirely true. Let's see, there was Cadmus who founded the place; Laius, who raped that one kid; then…

My mind stopped at recalling the story of Laius' successor. His son.

By the time I focused back on my surroundings, my bane had already gone. I stood alone, angry and uncomfortable, on the highway devoid of life.

Glancing around, it dawned on me that color had returned to the world. I heard the distant sound of cars and the closer sound of crickets. A cold wind hit me from the bay. The pain in my shoulder made me wince. I wanted to heal it but opted to just grab some ambrosia and nectar. It wasn't on par with some of the more intense injuries I'd received, so some food of the gods would be enough.

That reminded me… nobody had ever shown up to help. It struck me as odd.

 _Bah. I didn't need them anyway._

With that thought—and the wild, heavy chagrin I still felt from Id's insinuation—I pushed my weary legs onward to Caldecott Tunnel.

 **[AaMT]**

"And I'm telling you, _kid_ , that I'm under orders not to let anyone in this late at night. Look, I'd like to help, I really would, but I can't. If I tried, Octavian would have my balls."

When I got close to the entrance to Camp Jupiter, that wasn't what I'd been expecting to first hear. With narrowed eyes, I watched as Frank tried to plead with the guard again.

"It's important though! Perseus-"

"Hasn't signed out on the sheet saying that he was exiting camp. You know what that means? It means he's probably fast asleep in his bed, resting after the war games. I don't care if you know his name or the names of those centurions—all it does is make you sound more suspicious. So either you can wait here until dawn… or you can pack up and hit the road."

The guard's voice sounded impatient and exasperated. He was staring directly at Frank, arms crossed over his cuirass, leaning against the metal door. I didn't recognize him, which meant he wasn't from the Fifth. I'd helped Jason and Reyna train the other legionnaires more than a few times, so I was pretty familiar with everybody in my cohort.

Another guard sat off to the side, watching the interaction with clear amusement on his face. He wasn't somebody I personally knew either.

With a sigh, I moved closer. "While I'm sure Octavian appreciates your hard work, I think I'd like to get in now. Unless you wanted to explain to Jason and Reyna why you left their friend and comrade without the medical attention he required."

My voice drew everybody's attention. When they saw me, the one who'd been sitting shot to his feet while the other stood even straighter. They saluted in unison as if I were an officer who warranted such a display. Admittedly, it was a useless—if appreciated—gesture on their part.

The first guard licked his lips, his eyes meeting mine for only a moment before he flinched and looked away. "P-Percy! I… er… well I mean… you never signed out..."

I took a single step forward and rolled up my jacket's sleeve, showing the SPQR tattoo with a single tally mark underneath on the inner part of my forearm. There wasn't any indicator to show who my godly parent was. "Open the door, you fucking donkey."

He shivered and did so.

"Perseus, oh man, your shoulder!" Frank seemed a bit green at seeing my blood. He shook his head apologetically. "I'm sorry! I mean… I tried to tell them but they wouldn't open the door, and even though I gave them names and a quick explanation-"

"Frazier, please stop. I'm really… _really_ too tired to be listening to you go on."

He clamped his mouth shut and glanced around nervously. "Sorry. It's… uh… my name's Frank, though."

I walked past him and through the open door. "Whatever you say, Franz Ferdinand."

"Isn't that a king from Europe?"

"Archduke of Austria back in the day. Great mustache."

"Oh…"

For the most part, I ignored him as we made our way through the tunnel. The torches helped light the way. The air was cold and damp, still inundated with the scent of rotting wood and chlorine.

I drifted back to the end of my discussion with Ego. From what I gathered, I'd eroded some of Ego's resolve. It had stuttered. I'd shaken my bane. My idea had been a long shot, but it'd worked out in the end, I think.

If the collective couldn't function without the individuals, what would happen if one of those individuals were to hesitate or abrade? A building couldn't stand without foundations. An ideology couldn't exist without practitioners.

Apollyon would be incomplete without Ego. Whether such a loss would be a benefit or a detriment to me remained to be seen.

All I knew was that it was wholly possible to topple my biggest obstacle to date.

When the tunnel ended, Frank and I were greeted by the starry sky and tiki torches stretching down to the Little Tiber. New Rome, from where I stood, looked perfectly calm, with its marble architecture lit by the gas lamps which lined the streets. Soon, there would be a change of leadership.

I turned to him and gestured with my head. "Welcome to Amish Paradise."

* * *

 **A/N: Like I said up top, this is the last first person POV chapter I've got planned for a while. There'll be one, maybe two more segments of three chapter switches before the arc ends. Those come later though.**

 **I also realize I took liberties with the idea of the psychic apparatus. Any Freud fans out there please don't hunt me down. I've already sold my arms and legs for furthering my education. I couldn't run from you.**

 **This chapter might have been tedious to read. I felt so when I reread it after editing. But, there are consequences for things said, where Percy finally has to stop running from things I've been alluding to.**


	19. Beware the Serpent's Soul Pinchers

**Disclaimer: I don't own PJO, HoO, or ToA. Doing this for the fun.**

* * *

19\. Beware the Serpent's Soul Pinchers

* * *

"What was your name again?"

Jason's voice was groggy, slurred words tripping from his tongue. He was rubbing one of his eyes, leaning against the wood wall on the outside of his barracks. Two lanterns, one on the stairs and one above them hanging on the gutter provided enough light to see.

Percy figured his centurion was out of sorts after being woken at such an ungodly time of night. Protocol was protocol, though, which left him with little other choice but to introduce Frank to one of his officers after being brought to camp.

"Fred Fredburger," Percy insisted.

Frank shook his head. "Zhang. Frank Zhang."

"Letters of reference, Frank?" Jason asked, yawning a second later. "Family connections to anyone in the legion already? I haven't heard the name Zhang around."

"Not… not that I know of. My great-grandfather might have been around here once… er… is there a praetor I can talk to?"

"Not right now. We're currently between leaders, though we expect to change that in the coming week. Why?"

Frank paused and wrung his hands. "My grandmother told me to ask for one of them."

Percy took the chance to speak up. "Well, Jason is practically a shoe-in for becoming the new praetor. Our fearless, rugged, good-looking, totally single leader here will hear what you've got to say. Isn't that right, Blue Jay?"

"I'm ignoring everything you have to say about me from this day on," he replied, giving Percy a dry glance. Turning, he locked his blue eyes on the lamb-child. "But he's kinda right. If you have something to say to a praetor, you might as well tell it to me. The ballot's probably just a formality at this point, with Reyna and me being so popular."

The lantern above them swayed several times when a breeze passed by. Frank went about telling the story of a man named Shen Lun, his great-grandfather, who was thought to have been the cause of the earthquake which struck San Francisco in 1906. When finished, he bowed his head and offered a rather heartfelt apology, even though he himself had done nothing wrong.

Percy wasn't sure what to make of that.

Jason sighed and gave Frank a reassuring pat on the back. "Look, maybe in the past I'd have been more… I dunno, angry or skeptical about something like that, but I've learned not to judge people too much on first impressions alone. I also don't wanna let someone's heritage be what determines their worth"—he looked at Percy, who shrugged in response—"when it comes to personal traits. I won't hold this over your head."

"I… appreciate that. Really takes a load off my back."

"Good. Now, it's late and I'm tired. Percy, can you give Frank one of the empty bunks of your barracks? He can sleep there for tonight, then tomorrow we'll have him meet some other centurions and we can decide what to do with him."

"Sure. If you need, I'll vouch for him. Without letters or anything he'll probably end up in the Fifth," Percy crossed his arms.

"Okay. One more thing, Frank. Maybe don't mention Shen Lun to any of the other campers. Some people aren't as… accepting as the Fifth Cohort."

Jason turned but paused midway up the stairs. He looked back. "Percy, can we talk sometime tomorrow? Just you, Reyna, and me."

Percy lifted an eyebrow. "If that's what you want."

"Good. We'll hash out the details over breakfast. Goodnight you two."

 **[[AaMT]]**

Once he'd shown Frank the inside of his barracks, Percy decided against laying down and closing his eyes.

The night had already stretched on too long for them, and while they were both tired, he hadn't thought sleep would come easily to him. In less than twenty-four hours, he'd gone from moderately stressed about life, to highly stressed. As it was, the level had jumped again to crippling stress.

Instead of sleeping, he decided to visit New Rome's library.

The _via praetoria_ was empty, small pockets of flickering light from the torches showing the way. Though the road wasn't paved, its surface was made from tough, packed dirt flat enough for carts and chariots to roam on without jolting. Above him, the sky was inky and dark, as if the thousands of electric lights from Berkeley, Oakland, San Leandro, and Richmond were non-factorial in the visibility of the constellations.

Never one for astronomy, he'd only heard of the sudden discovery of a new pattern in the stars two winters back through one of his classmates.

Experts in the field claimed it could be likened to a woman holding a bow. A kind of… hunter… or something. They'd apparently never seen a constellation that looked so picturesque.

Lupa had told Percy it was actually a final act by the goddess Artemis for her dying friend; immortalizing the girl in the sky. How touching.

It had been his divine brother, Atlas, who'd dealt the fatal blow, apparently. And to his very own daughter no less.

His eyes tracked skyward. Nothing stood out to him. Dots in far-off places. Giant balls of gas, amounting to constant exergonic reactions. How they were placed didn't particularly interest him.

Reaching into his pocket, he fingered another small piece of ambrosia and flicked it into his mouth. He'd taken some from his locker before introducing Frank to Jason. Emergencies were never planned for, after all, so having help on hand in case something came up was a must.

The clock in their barracks had shown it was a quarter until one. Already early Saturday. Four days until the Feast of Fortuna and, by extension, the elections for the new praetors, which had practically ended before even starting.

Swallowing, he brought his eyes back down and tapped his shoulder a few times. Long had the pain since gone. Really, it hadn't been bad at all.

He'd felt much worse. The pain he felt from his bane's claws were nothing compared to the epitome of suffering...

The sword came to mind first. Long and black, covered by that iridescent shimmer of crimson. It had stabbed him, he recalled. Cutting him open and almost spilling his intestines across the earth.

Soon, cinder licked his hair, small flecks of ash floating up from the scorched earth, making his eyes water in their clogging blanket of ember, throwing him back onto the small sandbar.

The Titan Pallas' oppressive presence opposed him again.

Smoke filled his lungs and burned his throat. His mouth was dry and parched.

Flickers of a scowl, eyes made of crimson energy. Thunder and lightning and brimstone.

Percy wasn't sure how long his return to Limbo lasted. He'd stopped walking and hunched over, hands on his knees, chest heaving to give him clean, uncharred air. His arms and legs were both rattling. In fact, his whole body shook with small shivers. He felt sick.

A few tears rolled from his eyes along the ridge of his nose, falling to the dirt, lost in the dark night. He dry-heaved violently, shaking harder than before as his esophagus burned with bile which wanted to escape.

His left hand felt hot. The chill from his bracelet off-set the sensation somewhat.

He stood again, flinching at the ghosting pain from his hip. Somehow, the memories and sensations passed and he was left with an empty gnawing in his chest. His recovery, while appreciated for its rapid response, made him wonder about the normality of such acuity. When the feelings were suppressed so quickly, how could he possibly not think about them again?

There was, he realized, little point in bemoaning his good fortune. At least his… lapses… were short-lived.

Around him, the torches' fires continued along the path leading to New Rome. From where he was, the Senate House was clearly visible, as were the multitude of roads and alleyways that cut between shops, stalls, and homes.

With a sigh, Percy moved along.

For some odd reason, he found himself digesting Id's words to him. It was a topic he'd rather have avoided thinking, speaking, or contemplating for the rest of his life, if he were honest. Too bad it just wasn't possible to relegate the implication.

Accusation actually fit the delivery better.

But it wasn't like that. Percy was certain. It just wasn't. There was no way… he'd been sure— _made sure_ _._ The lost years, the distance, the constant caution, the locking of his dread and disgust. How else could it have been, then, that he'd somehow slipped in his careful aloofness. Id had the wrong idea.

 _And how wrong it was_.

Thinking about it made his stomach flip again. He still recalled the dream he'd had in the Unfulfilled Mausoleum. Everything that forgery of his Mom had said still echoed loud. They were lies. Yes, all of them were lies made to force doubt into him, to make him focus on unimportant and dangerous things, those of which would have culminated into something uglier than what they tried to force on him.

It was all lies and wrongful speculation.

But if they were, why did it still haunt him? Why was it, then, that he felt his heartbeat pick up just at the thought of her? Why was there guilt when she smiled at him so much like a mother should? Why was there frustration plaguing him with each maternal embrace?

He'd been trying to hold the detestable pondering at bay. Getting too lost in those kinds of…

No, he wouldn't label it. He didn't dare. A single mistake and he'd loathe more than just those thoughts. It would spill over onto loathing himself. And then it would go to his Mom as well.

Percy instead chose to keep his head down and count each step he took. It wasn't long before he reached the city limits. Terminus, the eternal sentinel for New Rome, watched him approach.

"Jackson," the marble bust inclined its head slightly. "You're out late. A rested soldier is a healthy soldier, as they say!"

"I'm heading to the library," he muttered, still partial to keeping his thoughts suppressed.

"Hmph. Odd time to do so, but...Very well, weapons in the basket, you know the drill." Terminus' reply was practiced and easy. Still, he took the utmost care with his wording, as if it were a great honor to be granted entrance into New Rome. "Remember, if you take any of the books out, I'll know, and you'll be fined accordingly. Plus, it'll go on your permanent record! You'd never get to be a senator with criminal incidents, you know. And I'm sure you'll be more than popular enough by the time your five years have rolled by."

"You're already talking like I'm sure to steal something. Do I look like a criminal to you?"

Terminus frowned the best he could, being made of stone and all. "If I didn't know better, I'd say yes. Your hair… it's still too long! I appreciate the effort of you cutting it a little, but it's not regulation length. And not to mention the color-"

Percy dropped both his toothpick and bracelet into the tray next to the statue. "This is my natural hair color. And at least I have arms."

With that, he waved at the boundary guardian and left, ignoring the cries of indignation at the jab. Why Terminus couldn't make himself some stone arms didn't make much sense since he was a god. Couldn't they all transform? Zeus turned into an eagle to abduct teenage boys. Lupa said she could look human if she so chose.

Why did Terminus get so angry when people commented about his lack of arms, then, if he was able to change physical appearance? Was there a reason he stayed that way?

Should such not be true, if Terminus couldn't change, he would have to find more information about the gods and their supposed abilities.

The situation warranted his research, given his newly established vendetta in regards to Orcus. It'd be useful to know whether or not all gods were capable of transforming themselves. He didn't want to let ignorance get in the way of success.

 **[[AaMT]]**

New Rome's public library was a pretty nice structure of white marble and red-tile finishing. At night, it was brightened by a swath of lamps and torches that led up to the front doors and up along the front-facing walls.

Above the glass doors was a short passage from René Descartes engraved in the marble.

 _Cogito ergo sum_ : _I think, therefore I am_.

Percy was pretty sure that the phrase was being taken out of context since Descartes was a proponent of doubting one's existence and all that it entitled.

Around him, the sett-paved streets and wide sidewalks were empty. Being closer to the forum, there weren't any places which would attract night owls. The bars and clubs were on the east side of the city.

He frowned and pulled the front doors open. They swung out silently, letting him pass through the threshold. Wiping his feet on the entrance carpet, he glanced at the long reception desk, resting empty off to his left side.

The library's interior was well illuminated by hanging lanterns and wall lights, with a decently open floor plan in the form of a circle. Suspended stairs led to the two upper levels, winding up the circumference at each cardinal direction. Shelves were placed against the walls, books stacked high on each level.

Taking a moment to consider his options, Percy headed up the nearest set of stairs, making his way to the top floor. He had a good idea of where information about Orcus would be. Having spent time looking for details on the Titans had familiarized him with New Rome's library.

Passing the second floor, he saw two people sitting at a table hidden between a couple of shelves. They had a few textbooks on the table, though the material was diligently being ignored as they continued to let their hands and mouths wander over each other.

A late night study session turned tryst. And in the library, no less. He averted his eyes and left them to their devices, not interested in becoming a voyeur to a couple of college students.

As he reached the third floor, he took the moment to lean against the glass railing and look over the library's expanse. Above him were an array of large windows that let sunlight in during the day. One massive chandelier hung from the ceiling, just a bit above eye-level from where he stood.

From behind him, close to the staircase which he'd stepped off of, the click of shoes on the polished marble warned him of an approach. His eyes slid and caught a hint of silver. Instinct took over when the sliver of shine reached out to hit his chest.

Percy caught the arm of his assailant and twisted around, pulling the person's body up and over his shoulder. The judo throw effectively stunned the dark-clothed man and Percy took the chance to wrench the weapon—a straight-bladed letter opener with a rosewood handle—away.

A second scuffing of shoes led him to react again, releasing his hostage and backpedaling, both hands held defensively in front of him as he readied to intercept incoming strikes. His stance shifted as he pulled even more weight off his left side. With narrowed eyes, he watched the second figure in similarly dark clothing help her friend up.

Percy made note of what he knew.

Two enemies. One male and one female. Hoodies and dark pants, faces covered by stereotypical black kerchiefs from their nose down. The woman had a pencil in her hand, just another example of the makeshift weaponry they'd needed to use in New Rome.

It wasn't as if there weren't knives and whatnot in various restaurants or other dangerous objects around the city. For them to be using items that would have probably been found in the library meant they'd followed him immediately after he entered, not bothering to arm themselves with something more suitable to kill him with.

He couldn't make out their age, though by the way they moved, surely they couldn't have been much older than him. They'd probably been legion at one point or were currently serving.

So then why were they attacking him?

The woman lunged first. Her arm jabbed at him experimentally, giving her partner time to recover his weapon.

Percy didn't let them corner him. His leg shot out and knocked the man away while his right arm crossed to block the jab. He surged forward and sent a few light punches to each of them, switching between targets every second to keep them occupied. For the most part, he made sure not to let his left hand connect, being prone to pain more easily than his right. He'd taken to primarily using the elbow of his left arm in hand-to-hand training against Reyna, which worked well enough for his purposes.

The assailants advanced on him, the weapons they held things he watched closely. Their retaliation came swiftly and poorly coordinated. Each sent attacks of their own, almost intercepting each other. Those were easy to parry.

Soon, they stopped the simultaneous nature of the attacks and came at him one after the other, each getting a few swings and stabs in before they swapped positions.

Taking to avoidance, Percy gently redirected some of the closer blows while dodging what he could. His sneakers squeaked as they smacked against the shiny ground with every sidestep, slide, advancement, and retreat. Each time they extended their arms, he watched to catch an opening.

His eyes flickered to theirs, and they flinched. Taking advantage of the lapse in their assault, his right leg trailed forward and he spun, throwing his right arm out.

The back of his fist slammed into the woman's cheek and she was sent between a pair of bookcases, where she held herself and rubbed her face.

His pelvis ached from the maneuver. Twisting his hips like that usually had such an effect. He'd have to keep from doing too much more of those kinds of acrobatics. Jumping and general over-extension were self-regulated as well.

When the hairs on the back of his neck rose, Percy turned and bent away from the letter opener as it passed next to his ribs. The metal edge managed to catch his right hand, which he hadn't moved fast enough, opening the skin where his thumb and palm met. He kicked the man's leg out from under him, crashed his knee into the side of the kerchief, then grabbing the front of his hoodie and ramming his forehead into the man's nose.

Not willing to give ground, he seized the man's hand, jerked it back, and squeezed, breaking the appendage at the wrist. Some discomfort made itself known from the cut he'd received.

The man's muffled cry of pain came a second before he grappled Percy's arm and brought him to the ground. They scuffled, hands directed then blocked and countered as each tried to land a debilitating strike. Sweat dripped from Percy's forehead as he struggled to gain dominance.

He grunted when the man clawed at his lip, tearing the skin and letting the taste of copper spill into his mouth. His right fist came around like a torpedo, ramming into the man's jaw and sending his head to the floor.

Rolling off the dazed opponent, he took a moment to breathe.

Squeaks from behind made Percy stand and whip around in one motion.

The woman's arm was coming down, pencil pointed at his face while it descended.

He turned his body ninety degrees and let the stationary cut through open air. His feet carried him back into the rows of shelves behind him. Without taking his eyes off the woman, he kept on retreating as she approached.

When the pencil came his way again, he dropped to an abrupt crouch under the stab and chose a book from its place on the shelf to his right. It was a thick tome, probably three or four pounds, almost too big to fit his fingers around with a grasp on the spine.

As he gripped the book in his blood-slicked hand, Percy cursed when his left leg refused to lift him back up to eye-level with his assailant.

He really disliked Pallas sometimes, especially when the wounds he'd inflicted were major hindrances.

The pencil came for his neck and, with limited options, he raised his scarred appendage up.

The stationary went through his palm and out the back of his dominant hand, its yellow body and broken graphite tip stained red.

"SON OF A FUCKLEBERRY FIN!"

He felt somewhat justified in screaming out the first thing which popped to mind. Only thanks to his half-blood tenacity was he able to coherently string words together instead of just screaming in vague, unfashionable ways.

With anger at the forefront of his mind, Percy ripped the book free of the shelf and swung it up into the woman's straightened elbow. Her joint bent upward and snapped audibly, garnering him a pleasant wail as his retribution.

Pushing forward, he tackled her and lifted the book before bringing it down on her face.

Once, then twice, then to a third pummel which eventually led to the fourth, only slowing the fifth time the book had slammed into her face. A cut bled down her forehead, her eyes dazedly wandering around as they tried to comprehend their situation.

He put his arm under her chin and pushed her head back, exposing her neck a bit more. With a heave, the book raced down a final time, crushing her throat in one move.

She gargled as he leaned away, her hands scratching at his arms when he pulled himself away, as if she were pleading him not to leave. A few tears glistened down her eyes when he extracted himself from her grasp. They rolled down to her ears. Her legs kicked and her torso jerked, fingers coming to her bandanna and yanking it off.

Percy watched as she choked. He rested himself sitting upright against one of the shelves. His attention drifted away from her when her struggle weakened, switching to his hand, still bleeding and with a pencil stuck through it, a certain chastisement welling up at replaying the fight in his mind.

If he hadn't been pulling weight off his left side, he might have been able to do something different. The same logic went for his left hand, having not been used at all. Despite his proficiency in hand-to-hand combat, fighting with impediments would always leave him vulnerable against physically capable opponents, as recently demonstrated.

The situation would have been different, too, had he been using a real weapon. As he'd learned those months ago when first using Impetus, he worked best with a spear or sword at his call. During those times, his mind sharpened, his senses peaked, and his blood filled with quicksilver.

Apart from having a weapon, he could have taken a chance and used either Titanic Energy, called upon his fire, or _ren_ _t_ at any time to end the fight in an instant.

He hadn't done so knowing there may have been gods watching. Slowly, that excuse was starting to wear and grind at his nerves. He was sick of having to keep hidden.

' _Soon,'_ he thought, gritting his teeth and pulling the pencil out of his hand, _'I'll have the support I hopefully need.'_

With a loud sigh, he dropped the stationary and stared at the blood dripped from his fingers. Noticing the woman's stilled body, he realized he'd just killed his second human.

His mouth turned sour and he took a series of slow, deep breaths, each escaping in shaky convulsions racked with the emotion of not-quite-guilty. It wasn't self-reproach which shook him. Rather, it may have been the years of ingrained societal teachings catching him unaware and reminding him that killing people was frowned upon.

Then again… he hadn't been premeditating murder and he'd been defending himself, which was a neat little justification which granted him absolution from the absolutes.

Before he could reach into his pocket for more ambrosia, movement caught his eye.

The other assailant was on his feet, less than a yard away, clutching the letter opener tight.

Percy went to stand but paused prior to even moving. An arm had snaked around the man's neck and yanked him back. With a dispassionate tug, his neck broke, and he fell to the ground, joining his partner.

Tentatively, Percy glanced up.

Standing with an odd little smile on her face was Abigail Delfini, one of the few people in camp that Percy would say actually unsettled him at times.

He'd tried to play nice with her, considering she was good friends with Jason and Reyna, only for his attempts to be rebuffed rather blandly. Bribes, vague promises, appeals to appreciation, guilt-tripping, and even subtle flirtation didn't register on her radar. Each time he tried to get closer, she gave him an amused tilt of her head and a raised eyebrow, then proceeded to laugh loudly and slap him on the back. She genuinely must not have wanted to get to know him.

"Yo!" She lifted a hand to wave, her eyes—deep red, shimmering, and cornered, like roughly cut rubies—roving over his form, stopping on the book by his side. "Did you know… the mitochondria are the powerhouses of the cell?"

 **[[AaMT]]**

"I see. Assassins." Abigail kicked the man's head, letting it loll to the side, lifeless. "Well, I passed those two love-birds on the second floor. No need to suspect them. Though we might want to see if they stuck around or if they left already. We could use their witness reports for ourselves. I should probably mention the third hooded dude I killed on the way up here. He must have been lagging behind his buddies."

Percy, who'd explained prior events, frowned. His hand was almost healed with help of the last of his ambrosia. "A third? If you killed him, then you must have known they were after me. And can you stop playing with their dead bodies? Kinda messed up."

Abigail stopped nudging the man with her foot and gave him a dry smirk. "Weak stomach? I wouldn't have taken you for such a pansy. The more I think about it, though, the more I believe it."

Her hand went up to the corner of her mouth, where she scratched thoughtfully. "I wouldn't say I knew they were after you the whole time. I was following you at first. I heard you talking to Jason and the new guy. I noticed your friends-in-black go into the library a bit after you, real suspicious-like and all, so I figured I should keep a close eye on you."

"I see..."

"No, you really don't." Abigail leaned down and rummaged through the man's pockets. Her tongue curled over her lip, a gesture meant to show the attention she paid to her actions, although the meaning was muddied by how its normally cutesy appeal contrasted to the grim scene of her scavenging. With a triumphant grin, she brought a folded piece of paper up to the light.

"How much you wanna bet these are specific instructions on this little shindig? Twenty galleons sound fair?" she asked without a hint of reservation, stepping on the dead man's chest as she moved away.

Percy wrinkled his nose at her treatment of the dead. Desecrating corpses seemed… unethical, even if they _had_ tried to kill him just a few minutes ago. "I'm not sure what I'd do with twenty galleons. I've never seen hint of the magical world, so where would I spend it?"

Her ruby eyes sparkled and an exasperated smile crossed her lips. "Not the _Harry Potter_ kind. I'm talkin' about the bona fide armed cargo ships used primarily in the early-to-mid Age of Exploration! Can you imagine what I could do with twenty of those puppies at my beck and call? Hot damn, we'd never have to worry about reaching El Dorado! We'd be rich. Rich I tell ya! Gold as far as the eye can see! And all day and all night and everything I see is just gold like me, inside and outside~"

Percy suppressed a smile when she started replacing the words of Eiffel 65's hit single. "Gold your house, with a gold little window?"

"~And a gold Corvette! And everything is gold for me and myself and everybody around~"

"'Cause you ain't got nobody to listen?"

"That's basically the plan, Stan."

"Okay, sure, you're totally right," he conceded, knowing she liked to keep things light even the oddest situations. "Only problem is that I don't own a _single_ warship, let alone, you know, _twenty_. You're gonna have to rework the bet. And if _I_ win, do you really have a way to get twenty galleons?"

She thought about it, then smiled. "Not right away."

" _Legally?_ "

Her smile widened. "About as legal as you murdering a person."

That was a weak argument. Percy scoffed and raised his eyebrow dismissively, having fought a flinch at her mention of murder. "You killed two people who weren't even threatening you. I acted in self-defense. You're the murderer here."

"You don't look wounded at all, though. I mean, your only injury was on your hand, which is—surprise, surprise!—completely healed without a trace. Thank the gods for ambrosia, huh? How's your claim of self-defense gonna work out without proof?"

She shrugged, waving the paper in his face. "Nobody's gonna believe you if you say you were just peacefully walking around, then got jumped for no reason. What's the motive behind such an attack? Why would anybody attack a man who's fought and beaten a Titan? Who would be stupid enough to attack a hero like you?"

"You've killed people before." He didn't have to ask or even confirm. The nonchalance in her stance and tone was enough to clue him in. It had been nagging him, but she hadn't even flinched when he called her a murderer.

The corner's of Abigail's eyes crinkled. He hadn't even realized that when she smiled, a small dimple formed at the corner of her mouth. Her light olive complexion—part of her Mediterranean heritage, similar to his—complimented those exotic eyes and that coy mien. She was quite pretty, looking very much like a young Pier Angeli from her earlier movies like _Tomorrow is Too Late,_ _Teresa_ or _Silver Chalice_.

And comparing her to the late Italian actress would have meant he found her quite beautiful… if Percy wasn't eighty percent certain Abigail Delfini had embraced her father's domain of madness in its entirety.

She slid closer to him, her feet dragging across the polished floor. "Well, duh. We're demigods. Most of us are born killers."

"We're supposed to kill monsters," he rebuffed, wondering what her answer to that would be. "Lupa always said that it was part of our responsibility to protect humanity from monsters."

A shift in her body posture was all he got, along with a hearty laugh. She moved a bit closer to him still. "Ha! That's a good one, Perce. Good stuff. Too funny! Seriously, though, people can protect themselves from monsters. I know they can. Or at least, I hope they can! We won't be around forever to help 'em."

"Who was the first person you ever killed?" he asked.

She peered down at him, enigmatic smile changing into an enigmatic frown. "You're seriously asking something like that? Awkward. Real awkward, dude. Why can't we have nice talks like those in the bars we visit? You're a good conversationalist when you want to be."

"Humor me?"

Abigail pulled her purple camp T-shirt down, stretching the fabric a bit, then crouched, scooching even closer to him and disregarding the paper in her hand. Her inscrutable expression shifted again, this time with hints of coquettish delight as the fingers of her left hand trailed up and down his thigh.

"Sure. I can do that," she grinned, her voice dropping to compensate for their new proximity. With her eyes locked on his, she brought her hand up, index finger dragging on his torso and up to his collarbone. She hooked her finger on the collar of his shirt, her cold digit pressing against the warm skin of his chest. "But I want something in return."

Percy stared at her. She'd never flinched when looking him in the eye. Even when they'd first conversed in the hypogeum during the Cerealia, she'd met his gaze with one equally as intimidating. "What could you possibly want from me?"

"Your influence."

He closed his eyes and scoffed again, refusing to give her the upper-hand. "How so?"

Though he couldn't see, he clearly felt her moving closer to him, so that when she next spoke, the warmth of her breath washed over the lower part of his face. "We'll work together. Make the legion better. Instead of lining the influential families' pockets with denarii, we can help Jason and Reyna revamp the system. By the people, of the people, for the people."

She smelled bitter and heady, like she'd just had wine with a particularly high tannin concentration. With her lips only a couple of centimeters away, he wondered how she'd react to him stealing them for a few seconds. He'd never actually kissed somebody before. Her suggestive advances were sending swells of heat from his gut up through his chest and even into the base of his neck.

He wouldn't deny her physical features' appeal to him. Above that, she'd always felt dangerous. Every talk with her was some kind of adventure. He kind of liked that about her, too.

"I've ignored the general politics of this place up until now. I don't think I want to get involved in the near future, either. We've got the war to think about. Better to leave the new land-leasing and reworked budget to those who have an interest in that stuff." He cracked his eyes open when her finger landed on his bottom lip.

Abigail stared for several long, tense seconds. Her nose almost touched his. Without moving the rest of her body, she took her hand off his mouth and reached into her pocket. A moment later, she held up a silver coin; one single denarius.

"What's the most you've ever lost in a coin toss?"

"Pardon?"

Her head leaned closer, passing his face to where her lips brushed his ear. "You heard me. The most."

He shivered at the warmth of her breath when it hit his skin. "Probably a bag of Skittles when I was in middle school. Why?"

She pulled back. Her red eyes seemed to shine in the dim light, as if there were some fire behind their glossy cages, deep within each ruby-like iris which couldn't be explained or ordered. There was power behind them. Simmering and horrifying, he could see. Terrible power, it all was. Terrific, but terrible nonetheless.

A single flick later and the coin was spinning through the air. She snatched it halfway through its upward arc and slapped it down on the back of her other hand, which still held the paper.

"Call it."

Percy glanced at her hands, then back up at her eyes. "What's the bet?"

"Doesn't matter. Call it. Win or lose, it really doesn't matter anymore. I need to know. It's driving me up the wall not knowing. So just… call it."

"Winning and losing don't matter? That's something either a very good loser or a very bad winner would say. Both are important, though, I prefer winning."

"Call it. There's no probability anymore. It landed already. No matter of chance. It's either heads or tails. A correct answer; there is one now. Call it. I can't call it for you, because it's your choice to make, whether or not you get the answer right."

"And if I don't?"

"Then you don't win."

He brought his right hand up and gently tugged at the hem of her shirt. She shifted so that she straddled him, one leg on either side of his own, keeping enough distance so she could hold the coin between them. Her lip had twisted in amusement as she got comfortable in her new position.

His face remained impassive. "And… what, exactly, do I stand to win?"

Her eyes drifted down to his lips, flitting back up a second later. "Everything. It's an all-or-nothing gamble here. You either win everything or lose everything. So… call… it." She accentuated each syllable by moving her head incrementally closer until their noses actually did touch.

Again, he could see something horrid in her eyes. He almost wanted to look away but refrained from showing such insecurity. Only to his Mom, would he accept defeat in a staring contest. But still... those eyes were haunting. They were… _bedlam._

Percy sniffed disdainfully. Whispering, he gave his answer. "Heads."

Abigail leaned back and looked down at her hands. She hadn't moved her gaze once, it's burning intensity sending a single sliver of division into his resolve.

Without further preamble, she revealed the coin, showing the imprinted head of a god on that side. "Congratulations! Good job! Fantastic play!"

She grinned at him and set the coin in his hand, softly closing his fingers around it with her own. Her hand lingered. "Don't put that in your pocket now. It's your lucky denarius. If you put it in your pocket, it'll wind up becoming just another coin." Her voice was a whisper, just like his had been.

With that, she stood and winked at him, unfolding the paper as she did. "Which it is! Just another coin, I mean. Never forget that today, you won everything because of an otherwise generic piece of silver. This ain't no country for old men, ya know?"

He wasn't sure what to make of what had just happened. Percy felt… somewhat threatened. As if he were moments away from being put in grave danger. How had such come about, though, when he should have been the one in control?

 _'And why am I kinda turned on? By a female Chigurh, no less.'_

Actually, the more he thought about it, the more he realized he'd never been in control of that scenario. She'd been the one to come and help him. It had been through her actions that he remained relatively safe. So then, from the very start of their conversation, she'd been the one with the upper-hand, able to play it whenever she so chose.

Yes, the girl was more dangerous than she would first lead one to believe. He'd already known this. From their most recent interaction alone, he could see it even clearer.

Caution around her, it seemed, would be necessary.

Especially since his hormones were telling him to throw that same caution to the wind and show her what control really meant—to pull her back on top of him so he could grab her hair, tug it back, and…

Percy quelled his imagination. The thoughts were appealing, yes, but all in his mind. Fantasy. He had to focus on the here-and-now, instead of getting lost in the carnal desires he often had to redirect in acceptable manners.

Why the sudden initiation of contact on her part, though, he couldn't figure. They'd never been close. In fact, she constantly rebuffed any attempt by him to go further than being good acquaintances.

Of course, he didn't actually ever want her as a friend. More that he knew she was close to Jason and Reyna, which meant he was hoping she'd be another piece on his board.

If only it were that simple.

She was one of the hardest people to read. Not because she lacked expression like Ego, but more because he didn't know what was real and what wasn't. And if everything _was_ real, then she was a veritable loon, as he'd theorized.

"Ah! A letter from our most austere augur! Looks like you've become the target for one of his power-plays. How fun!" Abigail seemed to buzz with readily perceptible giddiness. She handed him the paper.

 _Make sure it's done in a quiet place. When you're done, dispose of the other two._

 _We've no need for witnesses after all._

 _Remember, the gods have decreed this. He cannot be allowed to create another triumvirate._

 _New Rome's future depends on you._

Percy narrowed his eyes and re-read the script over twice more. It looked like Octavian was trying to make sure Reyna and Jason didn't get a chance to strengthen their hold any more than what it already was. Since there weren't many people in New Rome who could ambush either centurion and come out alive, it made sense that Percy was the one targeted.

True, there was no solid indication that Octavian was behind the planned assassination. The evidence gave Percy enough to draw logical conclusions, though.

For the augur to have left a note with one of the assassins… Octavian must really have been less competent than Percy originally figured. Then again, maybe he was just too overconfident in his choice of wet-workers.

"Who are they?" he asked, gesturing at the corpses.

Abigail looked at the woman first, who already had her kerchief removed from earlier. "Don't recognize this one. Unimpressive. Well, let's check behind curtain number two!"

With that, she stooped down and undid the kerchief from the man's face. She examined his features for a moment, frowned, then rolled the sleeve of his hoodie up and groaned lightly.

"Patrick, you moron."

Percy pushed himself off the bookshelf and stood gently, walking over to see what she was bemoaning. "Friend of yours?"

"Patrick, son of Bacchus. A half-brother who left the legion a couple years back after his term of service ended," Abigail said with a shrug, standing tall again.

"Sorry."

"You aren't. And neither am I. He was just a pawn, too stupid to realize he was being used. Not my problem. He probably would have died eventually anyway. Better to let him think it was in service of New Rome than letting his body rot from the booze."

"That's pretty messed up. You don't feel bad about killing your sibling like that?" he asked curiously.

She raised an eyebrow, her lips turning up slightly. "No. I don't. I'd say that I probably did him a favor. You might have done something worse, am I right? Tortured him for information?"

"Hardly," he scoffed. "I wasn't even thinking about it. I was just trying to survive."

"That so? Well, whatever. It's done," she put her hands behind her neck, inadvertently pushing her chest out. "Let's go tell Terminus what happened here. We'll probably be facing trial here pretty soon if Octavian is pulling the strings."

Percy nodded and stuffed the note into his pocket. It appeared he would have to postpone his research into Orcus for a little while longer. Focusing on dealing with Octavian and further attempts on his life would need to be prioritized. "Good point. Thanks for the help, by the way."

Abigail gave him a broad smirk and checked the watch around her wrist. He hadn't even seen she wore one. "A hero's work is never done. Rescuing yonder maiden is what we do best. Well… the night's still young and we don't have to report to Terminus right away… soooo… wanna make out? Give the hero her parting gift?"

He reeled a bit, laughed, and shook his head. "After all this… with dead bodies around? And why now? You never seemed to be interested in me before. I would say you've been subtly hostile up till now."

"We'd find another spot," she offered. "And Octavian is wanting to get rid of you; maybe you're less of a threat to Jason and Reyna than I originally thought. I _have_ always found you to be… well… let's just say you're my type, yeah? I wouldn't mind, hm, getting to know you better now. I think we share a lot in common, actually. So let's get better acquainted. I hear locking lips is a fantastic way of doing so."

"How old are you?"

"Turned sixteen a couple months back."

Percy's face formed a crooked grin. Internally, he maintained his wariness. "You really _are_ crazy."

Abigail's eyes glittered and her smirk relaxed into a smile, no less oblique than before. "Just one of my better traits."

Wasting no more time, she grabbed him and pulled him further back into the maze of bookshelves.

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 **A/N: Uh, so this is awkward. I'm too lazy to scroll back up to the page instead of typing this out. I've had a lot to drink last night, which is when I finished writing this chapter. Mid-terms coming up ya feel? Drown my sorrows before I hunker down for the next week or two and turn in all the late work I need.**

 **All mistakes are my own, as per usual.** **If you have trouble picturing Abigail, I'd recommend just keeping a picture of Pier Angeli from** _Silver Chalice_ **in your wallet and taking it out to study whenever you need to remember what the character generally looks like.**

 **...Needless to say, I'm kidding. Please don't do this. It's kinda weird and you'd hurt my feelings.**

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 _ **Review Response-**_

 **Carpathian Princess: Thanks! I try my hardest.**

 **Guest: I'm glad you liked it!**

 **Jet: We'll get more ideas of what the campers think of him in both the next chapter and the chapter after that. The gods... I haven't actually thought much about that, which may be a mistake. Thanks for the heads-up. This arc will start some romance, which is just a small subplot. Thanks for the feedback!**


	20. Sleepless Waking Hour? Control Fin!

**Disclaimer: Don't own PJO, HoO, or ToA.**

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20\. Sleepless. Waking Hour? Control. Fin!

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Percy was less than amused when Abigail made him drag one of the corpses out of the library and all the way to the first statue of Terminus they could find. Sure, he could've refused her if he so chose, but opted to follow her reasoning, since it sounded… not crazy.

He glanced at the clock when they passed the reception desk. They'd spent more than thirty minutes upstairs, preoccupied with giving their adolescent hormones leverage. True, he wouldn't complain, since he'd enjoyed the time spent, but some part of him was concerned at how quickly he'd lost track of the outside world.

Maybe he was looking into it too much. Pax had said he examined the ulterior and blinded himself to the ultimate. While she was specifically referring to his tendency to be a cynic, he had no doubt she was also talking about his general attitude.

"Was that your first time kissing someone?" Abigail asked, hefting the other two bodies with her, one on her shoulder and the other by the leg behind her. If she was uncomfortable, she didn't say or show.

"Yup," he pushed the glass doors open and stepped outside. The night air had gotten colder.

"You pick up on it quick."

He stopped walking and glanced back at her. "I like to think I'm a fast learner. Especially when its a subject I'm interested in."

She took the time to catch up. "That so? Maybe I'll keep that in mind if you're ever struggling with calculus or chemistry."

They fell into step and continued, Percy, having longer legs, soon pulling ahead of Abigail by a small margin. The woman's corpse was sliding across the ground rather noisily. "And why would you keep that in mind for those specific things?"

"If I'm not brain-farting, you told me you're a huge cinephile, right?"

"Hm, yeah, I remember saying that."

"Then it's simple! I can relate certain aspects of good movies to the subject you're having trouble grasping. Then wham-bam-bam-Riga-dam-dam you got yourself an A+ on the SAT. How's that for intricate plotting, eh? Just call me, erm, who was the old guy from _Star Wars_? Wrinkly and gross. The guy who killed all those Jedi Masters without breaking a sweat."

Percy's eyebrow twitched. "Palpatine. The Emperor. Darth Sidious. Take your pick."

"Yeah, that's the guy! I'm him."

"Who does that make me then? Darth Vader?"

She hummed aloud. "No… I don't think you're cool enough. You're more like… well… have you ever heard the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise?"

Unbelievable. Percy couldn't afford to let his guard down around her. "How in Hades do you remember Darth Plagueis and not the Emperor? And why would I be Darth Plagueis? He doesn't even get any screen-time. I'll have you know that I'm the main character in this story."

"We're all the main characters in our own stories. You're no different than me, or Jason, or Reyna in that respect. We all see ourselves as the center of our universes."

"True enough," he conceded, sighing at the insight his companion managed to show. "That was deep, by the way. Very philosophical… or something along those lines."

"Then I guess you'd better start calling me Newton, 'cause I'm about to drop something heavy on you."

He winced. "Heavier than his hair?"

She chuckled. "Touché."

They continued to walk along the sidewalks in relative silence. Those few night-wanderers they passed were either too drunk or too tired to care about the corpses.

From a particular perspective, Percy could see how someone might think the bodies belonged to the unconscious and not the deceased.

As they came to an intersection, he chose to break the quietude. "So… what's your favorite movie?"

In return, he was met with a cross between scoff, snort, and choke. Abigail coughed a few times, chuckles following her fit. "That's what you wanna talk about? Jeez, I shoulda known someone like you would open like that."

"Oh, I'm so very sorry," Percy said, leaning heavily on sarcasm, "for trying to make conversation with a person who's treated me like scummy pond water for the past couple of months. Ho! But it beggars belief that I'd want to say something; especially after you pushed me against the wall and shoved your tongue down my throat. Begging your pardon then, ma'am. I should've known just to let it slide and not bother striking up a conversation."

"You still owe me twenty armed cargo ships," she replied. "Then we shall set sail! We'll cross the Pacific and make way for Iwo Jima, and raise our flag there, claiming the first piece of territory for Rome! A grand adventure full of wine, waves, wives, wenches, wandering, whales, wails, Wales… and water-boarding!"

How were they even supposed to get to Wales through the Pacific heading toward Iwo Jima? Percy took a step away from her. "No."

She closed the gap. "Yup!"

"No."

"¡Sí!"

"Nein."

"Ja!"

"Net."

"дa!"

"Did you just pronounce the Cyrillic character so fluently that it made it into the manuscript? And was that an upside-down exclamation mark from before?! That's gonna have to be edited out later, you know that right? You're just making life harder for other people."

"That's my kink. Making it hard for other people."

Percy scoffed at the statement since it could be painfully true. "Bite me."

"Surprisingly that's _your_ kink. I think you almost broke the skin near my shoulder."

He fought the embarrassment the best he could. It was an odd position to be in since he had no prior experience with intimacy and the after-effects which popped up. Therefore, he had no basis or precedent to draw from for how to behave. Sure, he'd seen how to act from shows and movies and books, but it would be the first time he would have to incorporate those reactions for himself.

Treading unfamiliar waters, he decided just to play it by ear and keep his composure. Overreacting might make him come off as irrational.

Pretending to wince, he cleared his throat. "Sorry about that."

"As you should be. Next time, not so hard."

He lifted an eyebrow. "There's a 'next time'?"

She smirked. "If you want. Won't lie, that was fun. I wasn't sure what to expect but… hey, a pleasant surprise is always nice, right?"

They crossed the street together. Percy narrowed his eyes at her. "We'll see. I'm not sure how I feel about starting to date someone right now. Plus, I don't know you that well. You made sure to block any chance for us to become friends."

"Well, it was just a bit of making out. I wouldn't say that's a basis for us to start dating. Never my intention, actually."

"And it's true, what you say" she nodded, the corpse on her shoulder impeding natural movement. "But back then I was under the impression you were… a very inscrutable person. Maybe inscrutable is the wrong word. More like you were some parasite, latching onto the two people you thought would give you the most personal gain. Those people just happened to be my best friends; ya catch my drift? Was it surprising that I'd be careful around you?"

He sent her a thin smile. "No. Smart of you. You also sound like you're a good friend. Loyal. The thing I don't understand is why, even after we came back from the quest, you still decided I wasn't worth their attention—or yours, in that same vein."

"Tough questions. Let me first say that you would make a great 'good cop' character. You could probably play the 'bad cop' just fine, too, now that I think about it. Next, let me say I was impressed when Vesta herself announced the quest a success and told all of us your part in it. You probably saved both my friends more than once in a week's worth of time."

She tried to shrug, managing to lift only a bit of her unoccupied side. "So then, we've still gotta consider human logic. When you tried to get to know me, I was still… I just didn't trust you. Still don't very much. But knowing you aren't gonna start sucking Octavian's wrinkly sack, I feel a bit better; more comfortable getting to know Perseus Jackson, one might imply."

Percy made a face. "Please never say the words 'Octavian' and 'wrinkly sack' in the same sentence again. My nightmares are going to take a turn for the worse with that imagery."

"No promises. Your face is kinda cute when it looks so mortified."

He shivered. " _So_ … favorite movie?"

Her smirk was enough to show her amusement at his reaction. "Tough to say. I'm not a movie buff like you are, apparently, so don't expect anything worthy of your time, _oh ascended one_."

Percy waved off Abigail's words. "I don't judge. Except for all the time, with every word you might speak, _peon_. Be afraid."

"Wrinkly sack! Octavian! Picture it!"

"Oh gods. You win—please, stop bringing it up!"

Abigail chuckled and adjusted her grip on the corpses. "Let's see… favorite movie? How 'bout… ah… no… that might be good… but wait! There's more! Hm… oh, that's a good one… except it wasn't as good as… ah-ha! No, that one isn't as good as..."

His eyes slid over when she stopped muttering, watching as the light from the gas lamps lit her face in their gentle orange glow. Her eyes met his for a second; then they snapped away as she looked forward again.

It was clear she was hesitant. Why, however, continued to elude Percy as they kept walking down the street. In the silence, he let his thoughts wander. There were too many things, he soon realized, on which he could focus and plunge himself into with abandon, mulling and conceiving theories, plans, and ideas all for separate issues that were plaguing him.

Too many. Way, way too many. From his abhorrence of Orcus, to his worry over his Mom, to the fear of Apollyon, to his annoyance with Octavian; each subject like a sapling, ready to blossom into a tree with hundreds of branches if he was to water it with his attention; every branch, too, able to sprout hundreds of leaves, further adding to the payload of conscious anxiety.

He honestly felt weary. Percy knew he wasn't having much fun thinking about it all. Maybe the game with Octavian would've been neat at any other point. As it was, though, the scheme only brought him yet another molehill he'd have to make a mountain of.

Percy looked again at the girl beside him. She was kinda fun to be around. Just like Pax—who he wanted to speak with now if only to hear what she had to say about Ego's allegations—Abigail was easy to talk to. At least, for the past hour or so. Not so much before that.

And though the change was abrupt and downright suspicious, he found himself enjoying the time he spent with the daughter of the mad god. So much so, that he felt guilty when Pax came to mind.

But why was that? He had no clue. As he thought more about it, guilt became the wrong word. He didn't feel much guilt. Then again, guilt, in his opinion, was an emotion too complicated for easy description. More than love or loathing, for sure. He knew both of those well. Guilt, on the other hand, was almost unknown, at least to him.

Whatever the case may have been, Percy chose to ignore the feeling. Instead, he pondered how it was that conversing with certain people always managed to draw his mind away from worry. Those were useful people if he were ever to feel overwhelmed, as he was now.

It was only after he'd started tallying those calming influences down that Abigail finally presented an answer to the question he asked. Her voice was an odd mixture of rigidity and superlative bravado, with just the smallest hint of reticence. "Don't laugh."

It took him a moment to remember what they'd been talking about. "Not a peep," he promised. His eyebrow had raised at her newfound timidness. For the most part, he kept himself from showing anything else, so as to not offend her.

She looked at the ground. " _Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind_."

Percy felt his stoic visage soften against his command. A smile tugged at his mouth, and when he spoke, it was without the typical edge or snark he liked to use. "That's a great one. Not worth being laughed at in my opinion. I only watched it last year, with my Mom. We both really liked it. I remember she said she would've liked to meet someone in Montauk, like Joel and Clementine. She always did like the ocean."

He left out the part where he—embarrassingly enough, in a little bout of stupidity—suggested they actually take a vacation to Montauk, just the two of them. Maybe it was for the better, though, that her work had made her pick up the slack after the recession.

Abigail looked back at him, an expression unlike anything he'd interpreted before lingering on each line, curve, protrusion, and concavity of her countenance. It was something just placid enough to make him wonder about the warmth and coolness he'd garnered from her for the past few months. He wasn't sure how he could tell, but there in her face, the countenance of pleasant surprise lifted its thick veil to reveal an elusive… _thing_ beneath.

Her mouth jerked by a bare millimeter and her sharp eyes played with a softness that one might be able to fall into, like dropping into a mattress after a long day of work. The lips he'd pressed his own against were pursed and contemplative in their quirked nature.

It didn't escape his notice how her tongue poked out to quickly wet one corner of her mouth, then the other, each just a rapid dip in saliva that he could practically see glisten in the dim light.

"Yeah—well—um…" she bit her lower lip and glanced away, toward one of the passing lamps. "What's your favorite movie, then?"

Now there was a question he would answer with nothing but the truth. "I don't have a single favorite. Genre favorites, sure, but even then, I don't rank. There's no point in trying to pit great works of art against one another like that. Each has their place in guiding our views, notions, ideas, and personal paths."

He stopped examining her, focusing instead on the small ravines of each sett, the shadowed dip stretching for an insurmountable eternity.

"O...kay then? Just give me, like, a top ten or something?"

Percy sighed and took his eyes upward. "Still too hard."

Abigail gave him an odd frown. "It's only fair for you to tell me something. If you won't tell me your favorite of all time then how about of last year? What made you… I dunno… feel the most?"

He thought, then nodded slowly. "Yeah. That I can do. My favorite of last year in terms of emotional impact was _Synecdoche, New York._ "

She didn't stop staring. "I've never heard of it. Why'd you like it?"

Percy felt his eyes grow heavy at thinking about the movie and what he'd garnered from it. He recalled the turbulence of his emotions at specific scenes and how for a week each dream of his was filled with his insecurities. Fifty feet away, he saw Terminus at the city limits and readied himself.

"Because it hurt."

 **[[AaMT]]**

They had been made to wait until morning for their impromptu trial, which meant spending almost seven hours standing or sitting next to Terminus. Apparently, that was to make sure they wouldn't run from justice. Percy questioned how the armless god would have stopped them, though. He wondered why they weren't arrested and thrown in jail.

Well, Terminus must have had some form of power, because, at exactly eight in the morning, a small procession of toga-wearing senators walked the _via praetoria_ from the legion's encampment, meaning word had reached their ears. From there, Percy and Abigail were led to the Senate House in chains, with Jason and Reyna shooting them not-so-inconspicuous glances of troubled curiosity.

And so, without breakfast and having taken only a quick power-nap next to a marble god, Percy found himself on trial, wishing he could stop remembering Abigail's version of the chicken dance.

Last night had gotten… weird after a couple of hours. Of course, it was impressive that his partner-in-crime could sing such a convincing rendition of _More Than a Woman_ in Barry Gibb's trademark falsetto while simultaneously dancing like she was on the neon floor. That had been both inspiring and hilarious. He'd laughed a lot last night, which was refreshing. At least it kept his mind off of other unsavory topics.

"Murder! And by two of the Fifth's finest soldiers, no less? What, then, I ask the senators, advisers, and spirits of the bygone era, has our city come to? New Rome is a place to feel content and safe, is it not? How can we claim security for our people, if we don't take action against inside threats just like we do outside ones? This is supposed to be the closest thing to a utopia on Earth that we descendants of gods have!" Octavian's lavishly adorned speech was accentuated by his sweeping arms, making his toga flutter around him.

The Senate House was, in Percy's personal opinion, not very impressive. It looked like a lecture hall at his high school or a small auditorium, with several tiered semicircles worth of chairs pointing in toward a dais with a podium and two chairs. It wasn't even made of marble, but rather modern material, a shade of off-white eggshell on the walls and a rough carpeted floor lessening its political impact.

Percy stood next to Abigail a few feet from the podium. Both had their wrists and ankles bound tightly in thick metal manacles. He was given just enough leeway to walk stiffly. Apart from that, he could hardly pull one hand away from the other, the cuffs not letting him do much except chafe.

From where he stood, the gathered senators, retirees, and ghosts seemed concerned. There were about sixty in the audience.

Most of the congregation were Lares, adding to a total of forty spooky, see-through dudes in togas.

Twenty could claim life in the crowd: half currently serving in the legion; the other half having completed their ten-year tenure.

Percy's eyes drifted to his left, where Abigail waited quietly, enigmatic as she typically was. He did, however, catch her shoot a quick glance his way before she looked back to the crowd.

 _Bedlam_.

That word made him think as it once more popped unbidden in his mind. Although he'd had some fun last night, he still maintained his stance on Abigail. She was dangerous.

"Well, that certainly was an entertaining opening statement, Octavian," Hank said. "Why don't we let the two speak for themselves, though? We should get their side of things. As I understand, there is also evidence to indicate they were attacked first."

The trial was being handled directly by the Senate since it was a matter pertaining to both the military and the civil sectors. Had it been one or the other, there were proper courts for those cases too.

"What do you have to say for yourself, Perseus Jackson?" Michael leaned forward, steepling his hands. "I'd like to hear your version. I'm not sure about the others here, but I find it hard to believe you would just choose to kill a small group of Roman citizens so callously, only to turn yourself in."

So far, the case hadn't been directed like any episode of Law and Order Percy had ever seen. Maybe the Senate just couldn't be bothered modeling their processes like the mundane world.

He nodded at Michael's acknowledgment. "Thank you. It means a lot to hear that you've put that amount of trust in me, even though I haven't been in camp for very long. Let me start by saying I had no reason to kill those people, except for self-defense."

"What were you doing at the library so late?" Michael asked.

With a shrug, he replied, "After having led our newest recruit, Frank Zhang, to Camp Jupiter last night, I was a bit too jumped up to fall asleep. I've been having problems ever since the quest… and Pallas..."

"That's understandable," Reyna cut in, saving him from further comment. "None of us would claim your restlessness to be a product of false information. Fighting a Titan, and defeating him… you made Rome proud, and Lyle has told us the repercussions of your injuries already. Please continue with what happened in the library."

Percy almost wanted to smirk but instead just nodded. Nepotism at its finest, it appeared.

He retold the events in varying detail, picking what he elaborated on and in what manner.

When the story came to Abigail's introduction, she was asked to tell her of her involvement, which she did, claiming the third man, Jonas Kimberly, attacked her, therefore rendering her actions as plausible self-defense before killing her half-brother.

Already, though, Percy knew she was lying. She'd told already told him how she'd tip-toed behind Jonas and strangled him on the first floor. The last assassin had never even seen her coming. Not Patrick and not Jonas. She killed them both without any apparent remorse.

Not even there, standing in front of her jury, did she look or sound remotely guilty. It was like she had no intention of playing the victim.

Once they'd finished, the Senate House remained silent.

"Back in my day, they'd have been pardoned," one of the ghosts muttered, garnering many nods from the spectral population. "Warriors of Rome cannot be burdened with the life of civilians. Should it happen, we risk weakening what makes us _Roman_. Take pride in your power! I, for one, believe them."

Reyna sighed. "Cato, we all know of your conservative stance, there's no need to explain your reasoning to us."

"Yes, while I normally agree with you, _Cato Sapiens_ , we must take into account the changing of the times." Octavian, a known traditionalist, rebuked the ancient praetor diplomatically. "Many in our city tend to lean toward progressive values. If we upset them, there may well be discord in these trying times, which the Titans may take advantage of."

"Then render punishment and be done with this," Cato snapped, his wispy body flickering. "A sentence of two weeks of physical labor for the girl, being from the illustrious family of Delfini. She can help maintain the streets. Gods know there are more than a few bumps in them. As for the boy of unknown heritage—oh, I don't know… crucify him or something dramatic. The crowds love that sort of thing."

This time, a small snort left Percy's mouth, quiet enough so none heard. Nepotism, once again, doing its job in Roman politics. Lovely. Double-edged blades were his favorite.

Jason palmed his face and shook his head. "We don't crucify people anymore, Cato. That's been off the punishment list for centuries. Besides, we can't punish Percy. We'd never hear the end of it from the people. Octavian thinks there'd be people up in arms if they weren't but I think it's the opposite."

"Community service?" Hank asked.

"Or maybe a flogging!" cried a ghost from the crowd.

"Or you can throw us in the briar patch!"

"Yes! Throw them in the briar patch!" another ghost boisterously agreed. A steady of increase in barking for that particular punishment soon followed, almost becoming a chant on the lips of the spirits.

Octavian scowled. "We don't have a briar patch. And the defendant shouldn't make light of the situation!" he glared at Abigail, who'd initially shouted the briar patch idea above the din of suggestions.

Percy snickered and glanced at his co-accused, who looked very pleased with herself. Their eyes met, and he gave her a small nod, to which she smirked and returned the gesture.

She coughed and addressed the Senate. "Before you decide stuff, let me ask for the evidence in our defense to be presented."

Low muttering followed her brazen statement.

Michael stood from his seat and walked to the center podium. He stood and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and held it up to the masses. "I received this from Terminus on our way into New Rome. I haven't read it yet, so it'll be as much an experience for me as it is for everybody else."

Unfolding it, he quietly cleared his throat and began to read. "Make sure it's done in a quiet place. When you're done dispose of the other two. We've no need for witnesses. Remember, the gods have decreed this. He cannot be allowed to create another triumvirate. New Rome's future depends on you."

Michael's dark eyes narrowed and almost imperceptibly shot to Octavian before resting on Abigail and Percy.

There was, not for the first time, a weighty silence blanketing the room.

When he looked at Octavian, Percy found something he hadn't expected.

A face marred by confusion.

Even though nobody was looking at him, the augur held a bemused frown for several seconds, his eyes locked somewhere else. Then, when heads started to turn his way, realization dawned on him too, regarding how the note's rhetoric sounded suspiciously like his own.

Octavian's eyes darted, his mouth opening and closing several times, no words spoken. It took him a few tries, but eventually, he broke the tension. "Anybody could have written such a thing!"

And that was all it took, apparently. Percy could see from the faces of those in attendance, that they were having a hard time believing such. It was now his time to commit to a direction.

"But weren't you the one to first start mentioning something like a triumvirate?" Percy asked, putting some innocent confusion in his tone. "And I'm pretty sure the job of augur means you tend to be closer to the gods than the rest of us."

Victor scratched his hair. "Octavian does like to brag that he's a mouthpiece for the gods."

"He could have convinced civilians with patriotic zeal and a hint of monetary gain..." Leila said, surprising Percy for her vocal inclusion. Though she was the centurion of the Fourth, Percy hadn't heard much about her or spoken to her directly. She was reserved, as far as he could tell.

"His family probably has some money. And him being the augur means people don't tend to question him as much as they sometimes should," Reyna muttered, staring at Octavian intently.

Percy let the low talking persist for a bit longer before stopping it. He figured it'd be better to take hold of the situation and steer it down the path he wanted. Once people started thinking too deeply about the subject, they'd probably start seeing the flaws in their reasoning.

So, with a great heaving sigh, he shook his head and gave the crowd a pleasant smile. "Thanks for your support, guys. It's cool that you all want to find the person responsible and hold them accountable, even if it isn't for my sake.

"That said, I think Octavian's right in saying that anybody could have written the note."

Every head turned his way, and Percy relished in the surprised expressions that greeted him, especially Octavian's. "I mean, there's barely any evidence to definitively say it was him, right? Sure, it sounds like what he's been arguing this past couple of months, but let's face it, the scarecrow had no real motive."

He held his head up and stared down at the congregation. "Sure, we all know he wants the praetorship, but at this point, killing me wouldn't do him any good. Not only that, but I'm sure he's smarter than giving a piece of incriminating evidence to somebody who had every chance of dying at my hand. After all, wasn't I the one to fight, stall, and then kill the Titan of Warfare all on my own? Not to mention me fighting against Mithras, single-handedly again, might I add, and come out alive."

Percy turned to look Octavian straight in the eye. "Even someone as ambitious as Doc Oc over there would be smart enough to know that there are _very_ few people who would _ever_ match me regarding combat. Even as I am, wounded, and even as I was unarmed, he would've known there was little chance for an assassination attempt to have succeeded."

With a drop in the augur's gaze, Percy knew he'd won. Octavian was now well and truly aware of his loss.

' _How's it feel? Knowing everybody turned against you for a brief second, only to be saved by a person you can't stand?'_

All around, there were nods of agreement.

"I suppose that's true," Michael said, rubbing his chin, seeming a bit relieved that his fellow centurion hadn't been the one to order the hit. "This single note isn't enough evidence… and what you said is reasonable, Percy. Valid points, all of those."

"That still leaves the question of who wrote the note then," said Hank. "It's written like something Octavian would say, which means somebody might have been trying to make it seem like he'd written it."

Percy smirked when he saw Octavian's head drop even lower. The win was sweet. People already agreed with him, and the augur clearly saw as much. Between them, the contest of persuasion had been decided, and Percy had crushed his competition.

Nobody even questioned whether or not Percy himself could have written the note, giving him an excuse to kill those three. Of course, such hadn't been the case, but for the procession to disregard such a possibility gave him confidence that he was a bit above their league of subterfuge.

Or maybe they were all just a bit too trusting of him?

Whatever the case, Percy wasn't sure himself on whether or not Octavian was the one to try and kill him. He'd been given plenty of time to think the past night—in the lulls of Abigail's comedic shenanigans.

Even with all his contemplation, he hadn't managed to figure out a good motive or a reason for Octavian _ever_ handing assassins a letter that was heavily drenched in anti-triumvirate rhetoric.

It was… convenient. A subtle way to set up some sort of scapegoat.

But it was all conjecture at this point, and Percy had changed his mind concerning Octavian. He had better things to do. It had been made abundantly clear to both of them who had the ear of the senators and centurions. If Percy could stretch his fingers into the civilian side of New Rome, he'd be better entrenched to deal with any… _resurgences_ or back-draft from Octavian or anybody else.

He didn't delude himself into thinking the augur was willing to accept the shifting tide quietly. Octavian, on top of his money and family reputation, also had a semblance of trust given to him by the people due to his position. After all, the gods wouldn't let an inept, conniving, ne'er-do-well speak for them, would they?

Percy briefly entertained the idea of permanently ridding himself of the problem in a personal manner, but strangled the thought before it grew into something more than a novel approach. He'd speak with Octavian later and suss the truth out one way or another. As long as the guy didn't try anything stupid, there wouldn't be any reason to commit to any extreme actions.

 **[[AaMT]]**

The remainder of the trial had gone by quickly enough. Octavian had kept his mouth shut while the civilian senators promised to investigate the three assassins further, hoping to find connections to other sorts of shady activities that may have been committed.

Percy and Abigail, fully exonerated and freed from the shackles they bore, were led out of the Senate House by the ghost of Gaius Marius while the senators continued to discuss the disunity shown in times of crisis.

"… and so I withdrew, knowing they wished for a battle I simply couldn't afford to fight with the information I'd been given. The leading force of barbarians came and attacked our fortified position… and were summarily slaughtered. Let that be a lesson to pick your fights carefully! Patience and strategy, you hear boy?" Gaius Marius said, having lectured about his self-claimed favorite battle.

"Yes, yes, thanks for that, General," Percy replied, sounding as patient as he could with the ancient ghost. "I'm sure that information will be invaluable someday."

Marius nodded, evidently pleased with the placating words. "Excellent. Rome is in good hands with you here, Unclaimed One. Defeating a Titan? Hoh! What I would have given to see you do so! And a brawl with Mithras? I died before the cult gained traction in Rome; however, I know of his reputation. Indeed! I've seen the results of his power; those great settlements razed, those women defiled, those men flayed, and those children murdered. Terrible, terrible."

"You don't agree with those methods?" Percy asked, somewhat more invested in the conversation.

The ghost pursed his ethereal lips. "Hardly. Last resorts for real enemies, I should say. Not methods to be used lightly as one may please… but what can you do about it? He _is_ a god after all. They are always fickle and often provoked in ways us mortals can't comprehend. Strange ones. Be careful around them, you hear?

"Anyway! I've taken enough of your time, Unclaimed One! Ms. Delfini seems a tad irritated. Good luck, then!"

And with that, the specter whispered out of sight, becoming nothing more than a misty-gray breeze.

Percy turned to find Abigail staring at him with open indignation. Her eyes—which he'd seen as soft last night during their speaking—bubbled with frothing anger. Small cracks sprinkled each iris, gleams of light reflecting, making each line look like a laser.

"You—why—" she started to talk, only to stumble and constipate her sentence with vitriol. Her foot came down, and her arm shot out, one stomp on the ground followed by a strong punch to the Senate House's marble exterior. "We _had_ him. Are you _fucking_ kidding me, you son of a fucking bitch!"

He stared at her, eyes wide when he saw her broken knuckles. From what he could tell, she didn't care. Her focus was solely on him, complete disregard for her bleeding hand. She hadn't so much as flinched.

"What're you—"

Abigail shoved her other hand forward and stabbed him in the chest with her index and middle fingers. As she did, Percy buckled when the first host of disjointed imagery dumped itself on him, an impossible to distinguish flood of emotion following shortly after that, ranging the spectrum of intensely positive down to depressingly negative.

Chaotic sensations erupted in his gut and sped through his bloodstream. Goosebumps crawled along his skin, and his eyes itched in their sockets as if the gelatinous fluid inside had changed into a writhing mass of fire-ants.

"We could've brought him low!" she hissed so balefully that it set Percy's scalp ablaze. The tumult in his mind and body had made it hard to concentrate on her words. Instead, he tried to focus on the way her lips moved when she spoke, which only led his eyes to drop down the front of her body. Percy wasn't sure why, but he found himself more aroused than he'd been even last night. The urge to act on his persistent impulses almost drove him mad. If they hadn't been in such a public setting, he might not have found any reason to restrain the growing boldness.

Abigail continued to speak, apparently unaware of how she affected him. "He'd have been ruined! Reyna and Jason would've had, like, zero opposition in camp if you'd just let him fall. What were you thinking? What was going on in that brain of yours that you just _had_ to fuck up a perfect chance to hang that scarecrow-looking son-of-a-French-baguette?"

It was only when Percy took a step away from her, right hand weaving through his hair that she stopped raving. Her eyes had gone wide, face down-turning and seemingly growing apprehensive at his sudden wince.

"Shit. Sorry. I messed up, didn't I?"

Percy glared, knowing the blood that had rushed to his face was tinting his cheeks and ears. He tried to purge the frenetic excitement still abuzz in his system. Desire, dark and licentious enough to painfully tempt him, trickled into each exhalation. That same debauched hunger mixed with the aggravation that had been built from his occupying problems and a sleepless night. He also recognized the ridiculous feeling of inferiority in the wake of Abigail's power.

He was sure it was one of her demigod abilities. It felt too invasive to be anything caused by him alone. She'd done something to him. She'd forced her domain upon him. And it hadn't been intentional. Was she stronger than him?

Though the sway of his perversions gripped him tight, Percy managed to grind his words out, each one more vindictive than the last. "I'd heard stories—all bad, I can promise—but that really takes the cake. Control yourself. You don't see me going around, hitting people with my birthright, do you?"

Abigail squinted at him, her previous bashful hesitance draining away. "That's 'cause you don't know your birthright, _Unclaimed One._ If you did, I bet you'd be jumping for joy, bouncing off the walls, using that power to murder assassins left and right."

She paused and tapped the side of her head knowingly. "Oh what I'd give to see you do something like that. Woe is me that you'll remain unloved forever more! Oh, the humanity!"

"Can you stop wailing like a banshee in broad daylight? I think some people might try and exorcise you." It took an inordinate amount of self-admonishment, but he managed to pull a strained smile onto his face.

"And what good that'd do, eh? I could probably do with a few extra pounds of muscle on me."

His smile almost broke. He wasn't in the mood for linguistic sparring. Annoyance took hold, and his voice grew accusatory, cracking while he tried to bring himself to relax. "Exorcise; _not exercise_. And what was that from— _before_ , eh? Were you— _trying_ —to ( _how-do-I-phrase-this?)_ I dunno—make me go crazy—or something along those lines?"

"Nothing so malicious," she dismissed. "Nah, it was an accident. I—well I mean—look that wasn't my proudest moment. I'm not too good at reigning my power in when I feel excessively _anything_. It just slips, the control I normally have. I kinda hate it. Even Dakota has better control than me, and he's always juiced up with so much sugar he might as well be a walking time-bomb."

Percy felt his eye twitch. Great, he'd somehow involved himself with an unstable demigod who could potentially break his brain if she ever got too angry, happy, sad, or anything in between. What a perfectly functioning human being. For some reason, he doubted she'd be keen on leaving him alone now. Which was just great. Because what he really needed was someone like her hanging around him, able to flip his "On-Off" switch whenever she got a bit too moody.

Just great.

Sometimes, when he found himself in terrible situations, he wished he could live a slightly more manageable life. Maybe he should have used the monkey's paw for that, then, instead of throwing it away.

No, Percy figured that kind of wish would work out awfully. Hell, anything would be pretty terrible when the monkey's paw was involved. At least it wouldn't be bothering him anymore.

Though, throwing it away now seemed like the wrong choice. Ego had warned him that gods may have wanted to obtain the paw for whatever reason. And to Percy, there was only one reason anybody would want it: wish-granting.

But then, had the paw not been compatible with gods before? Was it the original monkey's paw like from the short story? Were there more than just that singular one he'd been given? Could they be created at will by slaughtering innocent monkeys? That'd be pretty messed up, and honestly, he doubted it was that easy. Otherwise, he'd probably have heard of the practice before.

Ah, so many questions, so little time.

' _Welp, nothing to do about it now,'_ he thought with a mental shrug. _'Thing's hopefully en route to the nearest landfill. I seriously doubt any god would debase themselves enough to dig around in the trash like a common rat, either.'_

' _Except maybe the god of rats.'_

Percy didn't even know if there were rat gods out there. What a ridiculous notion. Certainly not. If there were, then he doubted they'd be very intimidating. So too, would he question their interest in a mummified monkey paw. Mystical wheels of cheese, on the other hand…

So, he reasoned, if there came a time when humanity was confronted with a horde of mutant rats swarming the world and bringing the apocalypse, he'd take the blame. Until then, he'd focus his attention on something else and worry about the paw at a later date if indeed there was something to fear for.

"Why'd you let Octavian off the hook anyway?" Abigail asked suddenly, some of the venom coming back. "Shoulda just let him take it up the ass."

"Would you shut up about that already? Stop moaning, get over it, and stop questioning me," Percy shot back, still vexed beyond his liking.

Abigail seemed taken aback by the rude response. Her face turned an ugly leaf, her lip curling into a bitter sneer. "Aw, boo-fuckin'-hoo! You get a little taste of what I can do, and you start crying? Suck it up. How did a whiny asshole like you kill a Titan? Oh, well, I guess that was a pretty close call, though. Ain't that right, _Limpy_? What, you can't be number one in the Pacer anymore, so you decide to act like a bitch instead?"

"You—" Percy was ready to reply with even greater causticity, but literally bit the inside of his cheek as he went to talk. He brought his hands up with a muffled cry of pain, shaking his head and muttering curses under his breath. When he looked up again, Abigail was covering her own mouth, her eyes creased with amusement.

"Kfffta." The noise broke free from her, and she started laughing so hard it drove her to double over. It was a thick, uproarious type of laughter that escaped, her body rocking with each peal. In her fit, Percy didn't hear any of the contempt or bile from before, just a congenial guffawing that complimented her usual affability.

He wasn't sure when, but he'd started to laugh through the pain, joining her. They supported one another shakily, wobbling on their feet when either couldn't help bit tremble.

It took some time for them to finally bring each other to stop. He brushed her words and tone off as her being equally irritable as him. After all, she'd been dragged into that mess because of him, right? She hadn't gotten much sleep either, having kept him entertained during the night with her fantastic acting skills.

Percy cleared his throat, sufficiently calmed. The anger that'd once dominated him was almost lost, and it was easier to push from the forefront of his mind. Glad to be more in line with his preferred behavior, he decided to answer Abigail's question seriously.

"Because people would've eventually come to the same conclusions I did. There wasn't that much evidence against him," Percy took a formal tone and held up his pointer finger, "so I decided to cut my losses before even seeing any. If the audience came to those conclusions on their own, we'd have been back to square one. Instead, I guided their thinking a bit, making me seem magnanimous for helping our esteemed augur while also pulling attention away from the original trial's agenda."

Pausing, he smiled—which still felt a bit forced to him—and returned the wave of a few passing pedestrians, whose children were pointing excitedly at him. He was somewhat well-known for his role in the quest. People liked to acknowledge him more, and far be it from him to ignore them. Their admiration might be useful.

It seemed, however, that word hadn't gotten out to the masses of his trial. Maybe the knowledge would never be made public.

When the civilians passed, he let the smile drop and glanced at Abigail again. "They would never have expected me to give Octavian my support if I thought he really did try to kill me. And boom, I know look like a person who puts justice above my personal prejudices, since everyone knows he and I aren't friends."

"I'm starting to think I was right to be worried about you. That said, I'm not too sure I follow your logic."

"Alright, let me put it this way. People like the good guy. I'm the good guy, now. They like me. They like me more than our augur, Doc Oc. They believe me. They doubt him."

Percy snorted. "He plays by my rules now because they're starting to trust me more than him. And since he isn't a moron, he knows that. Maybe I can even get a favor out of him. After all, I saved his reputation. He owes me. I keep playing him, he keeps licking my shoes. Let him taste the dirt for all I care."

Abigail hummed, a frown crossing her face. "Like the scorpion and the frog. But you'd be the frog."

"You lost me."

"A scorpion asked a frog to carry him across the river. At first, the frog smartly declines, afraid of being stung by the scorpion. Well, the scorpion is a persistent one and argues that if he stung the frog, they'd both end up drowning, since he can't swim. That said, he persuades the frog and climbs aboard, keeping his stinger up and away from his living transportation. The frog is uneasy but hopes one day the scorpion will prove to be a good friend. Once they reach halfway across the river, the scorpion's tail lashes out and hits the frog. As it dies, the frog asks why, stunned at the sudden attack.

"And the scorpion—knowing he will soon drown anyway—says he stung simply because that was in his nature."

Percy considered the tale. "So… Octavian is the scorpion. I'm the frog. The analogy still isn't really lining up, but I see your point. Still, my methods work. It'll be for the best."

Abigail didn't look convinced and wrung her wrists. "Ouch!"

Percy glanced at his companion, who now cradled her bloodied hand tenderly, with her bottom lip quivering. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Had she really just noticed?

"You should probably get that checked out," he said. A loud yawn escaped him. "Looks like it hurts."

She nodded. "Really? Wow, how'd you figure that one? My gods, your inductive reasoning skills astound me. You could be a son of Minerva with that kind of wisdom."

"Yup. Maybe you should go to the clinic," he twisted his lips into an insincere smile and gave a curt wave, separating from her shortly after.

"Wait, what?! You're just gonna leave?!" Her bewildered look told him he'd caught her completely off-guard.

Good. Percy wanted time alone to think, and if he kept playing nice, she might attach herself like Naomi. Those two were a bit similar. Percy really didn't need another shadow.

"I missed breakfast, and I'm tired. Plus, it's your own fault for breaking your hand. So, uh, later." With that said, he turned and walked down the street, intently ignoring the string of colorful language that followed him.

He made his way to the closest restaurant he could remember, organizing his priorities while he went. Taking some time off training would probably be in his best interest so he could go to the library in the day when there would be plenty of witnesses around. That would, of course, mean telling both Jason and Reyna of his predicament.

And boy, he didn't know how he felt about doing something that'd make him look so helpless. Pride, as it was, seemed to be taking a deeper hold on him. Not exactly a welcome abundance, but perhaps an unavoidable one nonetheless.

Percy resolved to meet with Vesta sometime soon and get her thoughts on the matter if she could spare the time. Several weeks ago, she'd told him the gods were interacting less with the mortal world, preparing for the storm that was to come. Such was the reason he hadn't seen her for a while.

If not her, then maybe Lupa would be of some use. But traveling all the way to Sonoma didn't really fit into his timetable. And—odd as it sounded—Lupa didn't have a temple or shrine in Camp Jupiter. Once, Jason had told him it was just how she preferred things.

That left Pax, though Percy doubted he would see her anytime soon. She'd been pretty adamant about keeping her distance, so as to not draw Orcus' ire. After meeting Ego, though, Percy had doubts anyway. He'd be more careful around her. A dull ache formed at thinking about losing her company. He was quite fond of Pax, and he liked to think the feeling was mutual.

 _Dependence indeed_. Percy felt his face drop.

Idly, he wondered what his father would think about the circumstances.

Those thoughts were dispelled with unnecessary contempt. Instead, Percy focused his attention on Ego, and how he was supposed to deal with his bane the next time they met.

 **[[AaMT]]**

Mithras lounged on the blue velvet couch, both legs kicked up on the coffee table and crossed. The fireplace across from him burned with green fire, barely warming him in the otherwise dark room. Mount Othrys' typical oppressive chill had become more malevolent. A recent development, if Mithras recalled properly, not having felt so uncomfortable on the mountain since the first time he visited.

As a god, he had a natural resistance to physical effects from the environment. Heat and cold didn't usually bother him much unless the sources were mystical.

He shivered and tugged at the lapel of his tunic. Whatever the cause of the recent freeze, he didn't appreciate it. How could he ever justify coming now that he felt even less welcome than before?

Though stuck in his contemplative state, he was made aware of the presence approaching the door to his left. Footsteps echoed readily in the marble halls of Othrys, but it wasn't sound that alerted him of company. Mithras knew the aura of his benefactor well enough, having felt it at both its calmest and its direst stages. So then, quick as a flash, his lounging became anything but relaxed as he recognized the turbulent ebbs of power coming from outside the room.

When Iapetus strode in—door sent flying off its hinges to announce his entrance—Mithras was forced to duck. Pieces of wood flew over his head and hit the wall opposite him, clattering to the ground moments later.

"And here I thought you liked your place of residence," he said airily, not in the mood to worsen his employer's ire. "If you aren't going to treat this section nicely, I'll take it off your hands. Spacious, homey, and with a lovely view of the National Recreation Area. Well, if you can see beyond the blizzard."

Iapetus didn't speak. He walked past Mithras and took the plush chair closest to the fire, staring into the green as if it held answers to some troubling question.

They sat quietly for some time. The logs in the fireplace were meant to never burn away, so if he'd wanted, Iapetus could have sat and stared for an eternity. Mithras didn't know what was wrong, but he would rather learn and leave than wallow in the chilled atmosphere for much longer.

"What's wrong? You looked like someone clubbed your favorite penguin."

"Many things… are not going my way," Iapetus responded slowly. "A new threat has been made known to me, an old threat has come to haunt me again, and the present threat soon plans to become the biggest."

"That's a lot of threats," Mithras said. He leaned further into the couch and counted them on his fingers. "That's three more threats than I'm aware of."

"Global warming. Tartarus. And Kronos has learned the location of his Adamant scythe, which he plans to reclaim."

Mithras frowned. "Global warming?"

Iapetus nodded solemnly. "The polar ice caps are melting. Soon, the polar bears will die."

"Ah, my condolences. So, Tartarus?"

"He haunts me. He believes Gaea will come to reclaim her flesh and bone, ridding her world of all she deems… not of her favor. It was only because he—Tartarus—allowed it that I escaped his domain all those years ago. Now, he wishes me to repay his kindness."

"Ah, my condolences. So, then, Kronos' scythe?"

"The original that mother gifted to him. Unbreakable. Made of Adamant. In Kronos' hands, it had the power to rip our father to pieces, killing him utterly, with no chance of reforming. All beings should fear such a weapon."

"Ah, my cond-"

"Shut up."

Mithras closed his mouth and tapped his fingers on his arm. "So what're you going to do?"

Iapetus looked away from the fire, his silver eyes piercing the dark. "I'll do what I've been doing."

"You finally planning on meeting the kid?"

"Soon. A bit sooner than I'd anticipated. He needs a more… direct influence at this point."

Mithras noted the Titan's bouncing leg. "Nervous? How strange. He's just a boy."

"A boy I fathered. A boy I abandoned. A boy that has every right to hate me. A boy I hardly know and who's inherited my greatest power. He is the continuation of my legacy. And I've failed to even let him know such."

"If you're so worried then why didn't you meet with him earlier on in life? When your siblings were still… locked away; that'd have been a better time," Mithras chided, feeling strange at talking down to an Elder Titan. "You have only yourself to blame."

"I know. Meeting him earlier might have been better if circumstances were different. But not as we are. I couldn't have. Best to let him think poorly of me. I'll bear his resentment, as is proper. I can only hope that when the time comes, he can see reason."

Iapetus stood and rolled his shoulders. "But I won't dwell on those thoughts. There's nothing more to make of it. I must make more preparations—in case he kills me before I can help him further."

Mithras snorted. "You think the kid can actually take you down? Pallas was one thing, but you… or any of your brothers?"

"Of course he can," Iapetus gave a resolute nod. "He's my son, after all. He can kill anything, he just doesn't know it yet."

* * *

 **A/N: Surrounded by assholes. Did everyone come across as a douche this chapter? Maybe that's the idea, see? Oh, god of rats, expect him. Final boss. Epic mastermind of the entire plot. Destroyer of worlds.**

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 _ **Review Response-**_

 **Superkami God: I forgive you. It was a valiant effort.**

 **Malosi06: Ah-ho. You're too kind. I try my best, so I'm glad you enjoy what I do. Paxeus is a damn fine ship name, btw.**

 **Jet: Well, maybe I disappointed you with this chapter then? How is it supposed to be intrigue if it resolves after just one chapter? Anyway, I hope not to have let you down too much and that I hear from you in future chapters.**

 **Guest: I don't have anything set. I usually have a chapter out every ten-fourteen days, though sometimes it takes less or more time.**


	21. Will You Love Me Just a Little?

**Disclaimer: Don't own PJO, HoO, ToA.**

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21\. Will You Love Me Just a Little?

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Half-blood dreams should have come at more convenient times.

It was a wonder Percy hadn't become accustomed to dreaming when he was in bad ways. They were typically pretty awful, though he'd come to terms with their quality. Really, all he still complained about was their frequency.

The quest, as he'd claimed, only exacerbated his condition. Going on two months, the nighttime granted him little to no reprieve. Not that his waking hours were awful. He just wanted sleep filled with sheep and soft blankets.

Never did those things come.

Instead, he got reminders of his fight with Pallas. His mind seemed to focus on replaying the battle with painstaking rigidity. He'd be taken, snapshot to snapshot, guided from one scene to the other, rolled along in a slow coasting of mistakes given spotlight treatment—sparkling from their gilded picture frames.

Mistakes. Errors in his form. Wrong foot movements. There were a lot of these. With two months worth of dreams, he'd memorized the exact number. His pride as a fighter hurt a bit whenever he thought of that count.

In the dream, Pallas— _for about the thousandth time_ —drove his sword through Percy's gut, something new happened.

The surrounding sandbar slowly dissolved in glowing, caramel-colored grains of solidified light. All around them, the island broke down into its barest components and floated away. The scent of charred flesh, spilled blood, and sulfur was replaced by a much more pleasant aroma. It felt like he'd just walked face-first into the world's largest cinnamon roll, taking the deepest breath in he could manage.

The sound of seagull calls soon made him frown. When he tried to snuggle deeper into the first bit of softness he'd felt in his dreams after months, the incessant squawking kept him from doing so.

Frustrated, he reluctantly turned away from the arms of his giant cinnamon roll—who'd become solid, beckoning to him with its seductive, frosted covered spiral—and searched for the birds ruining the possibility of a _steamy_ romp. He'd have given a lot to lose himself in those squishy, bouncy, resplendent cushion of doughy goodness. So it was with more than a little bitter disappointment that he tore his gaze away.

The disappointment turned to confusion when he found the seagull to blame.

Its form took up most of the space in front of him. Nearly seven feet tall and half of that broad, the bird was bigger than he was, in both mass and volume. A pair of baseball-sized eyes stared at him, whitish-yellow irises contrasted with the black pupil.

Percy blinked and rubbed his chin. It took him a second to say, "This… somehow this manages to take the cake for the weirdest dream I've ever had."

"I concur," the seagull said.

"Come back to bed, _Percy_ ," the cinnamon roll cooed. A dollop of frosting sparkled due to some unseen light. "I'm warm and moist, just… for… _you_."

Percy licked his lips, which had gone dry once the roll started to speak in its delicate, and decidedly feminine, voice. Small curls of steam wafted from his seductress' full body.

"Holy shit that's hot."

"By the Earth's unholy bosom—what are you dreaming of, boy?" the seagull cried, covering its eyes with both wings. All for about a heartbeat, at least, until it squawked with surprise. "Wings?! What fresh hell have I been subjected to?! This wasn't the plan."

"Look, I'm not sure what's going on either, but if you've got something to say, let's get it over with. That cinnamon roll won't stay warm forever."

"N-no. You seem… busy… I'll come back another time. This was a mistake in the first place." The seagull seemed abashed, and if it could blush, no doubt its face would have been a prime candy red color. "Before I go, though, how are you handling your new weapon? Is it good? Nice balance, right? Do you like it?"

Percy was taken aback by the seagull's sudden eagerness. "I think I'm starting to get used to it. It's just so damn heavy. Stopping it mid-swing is a workout."

The bird blinked. "Have you not been following through with your swings? Don't think of pausing and redirecting each strike. Rotate your arms and glide into the next motion. Vertical slashes work particularly well with that rule. Hm. May I see what form the sword imposes?"

"Uh," Percy looked at the cinnamon roll, then shrugged and tugged at the bracelet. Soon, he held Pallas' sword with his right hand.

"Interesting. It's significantly smaller. Not as wide nor as long. Whereas before I might have classified such a craft as one of those from the Scottish lands, this indeed is a bit slim for a two-handed sword. Standard, slightly bent quillions. Very nice." The seagull bent forward to examine the blade's dark edge.

"It reminds me of one of my plain _montante_. That's Spanish, by the way. Though these kinds of two-handed weapons go by many names. Longswords _—_ though those are more often associated with hand-and-a-half—, bastard swords, greatswords. Then, of course, the names in other languages which people find more fun to say: _montante_ , _bidenh_ _ä_ _nder_ , _passot_ , _spadone_. Call it what you may."

"You said something about rotating?" Percy led the conversation to a more useful topic than naming.

"Of course! One hand near the pommel, the other near the guard. Twist and flow from movement to movement. Start with upwards swings and short steps in either direction. Each step taken, forward or back, should finish at the halfway point of each swing. Then, complete the swing and bring the sword to your other side. Rinse, repeat. Control spacing! I'm sure you can find some texts regarding these things as well. German, Spanish, Italian. Get the basics, and the rest will come naturally to you."

With a glance to the cinnamon roll, the seagull clucked impatiently. "This wasn't what I'd intended to speak of, but far be it from me to complain. Goodbye, for now, Perseus. Hopefully, our next meeting will be less… awkward."

With that, the giant bird vanished. There was no flashy theatrics involved. It faded from existence, the fullness of its form just up and became less stable by the second until there was nothing left.

Percy tried to rationalize—really, he did his best—but soon opted to pretend the dream wasn't even happening. If he wanted to stay relatively sane, he'd have to deny ever having experience whatever the hell his mind was subjecting him too.

Before he could forcibly exit the dream, he felt a pair of squishy arms curl around his neck. "Eat me, Percy! I'm _your_ cinnamon roll!"

 **[[AaMT]]**

When his eyes next opened, Percy was no longer caressed by those fantastic mounds of supple dough. Instead, he lay on his back, an arm draped over his forehead. The wood barrack's ceiling greeted him, a reminder of his place.

He sat up on his bunk and stretched. The clock on the wall told him it was nearly six in the morning. If that were the case, then he'd have gotten a fantastic night's rest.

Looking around, he was a bit surprised to see nobody was stirring yet, even as light slipped past the curtains on the windows. Considering it was a weekday, the cohort would be required to meet in the mess hall at eight, as per orders. Given the time, people were often already getting ready to hit the baths.

Percy moved off his bed and went to his locker, going about his own routine. If the others were too lazy to get up, what did it matter to him? It would be their asses on the line, not his own. Reyna and Jason wouldn't hold him accountable for waking them.

Grabbing his flip-flops, towel, and hygiene essentials, he left the dorm. The Bath House was just a short walk from the barracks, so he got there without hassle along a path holding no people.

Again, such quietude struck him as odd.

It only took him a few minutes to reach the baths. A large thing, made of beige stone and rising imposingly above most of the encampment, the building was spacious enough for all two hundred legionnaires to fit inside. He took the steps two at a time and stopped short when he saw a familiar face turn the corner.

Noel waved when he noticed Percy. "Hey."

"Yo. What're you doing here?"

"Probably the same as you," Noel said, lifting his own plastic shower caddy. They were both wearing swim trunks, too, which should have tipped Percy off. "How're things?"

"I meant what are you doing in camp?" Percy asked again, ignoring the question directed his way.

At that, Noel frowned. "You haven't heard?"

"Do I look like the kind of person who knows everything that goes on around here?"

The frown didn't lift. It deepened, actually, and Noel's amber eyes drifted somewhere else as he apparently contemplated those words.

They stood in silence—awkward and tense by Percy's inclination. He wouldn't say it aloud, but the subtext of Noel's sudden confusion wasn't lost on him. Clearly, Noel did think of him that way. Which suited Percy just fine. Better to be overestimated by people at camp than not.

"I did expect you to have gotten the news… but maybe that's just me being stupid."

"So," Percy continued walking up the steps. He brought the conversation with him. "Are you going to fill me in?"

Noel had to hurry to keep up. They walked through the open archway and took an immediate left down a hall which led to the men's changing area. Said room was built like an atrium, tall and circular, still made of the same material as the building's exterior. The roof was full of curved glass panes, letting in plenty of natural light.

Small locking cubbies lined the walls. Four long benches were set in the atrium, one at each cardinal direction, giving people a place to sit if they were so inclined. The scent of lavender and vanilla layered the room, though neither was overly pleasant to Percy's nose. Both were thick and lung-clotting, embroiled in a battle to claim the atrium's dominant aroma.

"We're being drafted back into the legion. Looks like war outweighs our mistakes," Noel said. "A decision straight from the Senate. We really don't have a choice."

Percy walked to the nearest cubbyhole and stuffed his towel inside. "When did you find out?"

"A couple days back."

"Hm, I haven't heard from any of the others about it. Haven't seen Naomi around, either."

 _You didn't tell me._ Percy made his inferred accusation as obvious as he could without actually saying it.

"We've been… coming to terms with it. Vicky doesn't seem to care. Jimmy and Monroe aren't in the best… they're… Naomi—well—what can I say about her? It's all—I can understand where the Senate is coming from—and that's cool—but..."

"Vicky doesn't care?" Percy put his shirt in the cubby, then closed and locked it, leaving him only in his trunks and sandals. He waited as Noel did the same at a much slower pace.

"Not that I can tell."

"And Naomi?"

"She doesn't want to fight anymore. I think she's afraid of getting hurt."

"Makes sense. And you?"

Noel shut his locker curtly. The ringing bounced off the atrium's walls. "I'm not afraid of getting hurt."

Percy, amused, walked to a door at the far end of the room marked with a picture of ice-cubes. Going through, he took the wide hallway leading to the frigidarium.

There were many different types of baths to sate any legionnaires peculiar tastes. The cold, warm, and hot bathing pools were the most frequented, although both the dry and wet steam rooms had their share of visitors.

There were, of course, a set for both men and women for privacy's sake.

Then there was the main swimming pool, which spanned thirty yards in length and ten in width. It was a communal area where both guys and girls were able to meet, hang out, and have fun. (Water volleyball tournaments were semi-regular occurrences that almost everybody participated in.) Around that room were four hot tubs at each corner, able to accommodate ten people comfortably.

Roman baths were pretty neat.

Percy pushed a set of heavy linen curtains aside once he reached the end of the hall. The room he entered was much smaller than the atrium, not even a sixth of the size, though such attested more toward the grandeur of the atrium than anything else.

The frigidarium was the smallest of the bathing areas—there weren't many who cared for the cold baths first thing in the morning—but still compared to a standard classroom's dimensions. Unlike in ancient Rome, though, there was a row of shower heads placed high on the far left wall, for those who preferred not to idle.

"Still nobody, huh?"

Noel stepped in behind him. "Well, the Feast is tonight. Today's all about partying."

"Oh," Percy wanted to laugh. He'd forgotten that it was June 24, which did, in fact, mean the Feast of Fortuna was being held later. It also meant election day and no legion duties. "How'd I forget about that?"

Four days had passed since his trial, and in that time, he'd done little worth noting. Orcus was a somewhat reclusive god, from what the library texts told him. This made research difficult and a dull slog through thick tomes written over a thousand years back in a language Percy still had trouble reading.

None of what he'd read really helped. Etymology and a couple of significant children in history were all that he found. There weren't reports on any battles he'd been part of or spats he'd partaken in. Pax had told him more in a few minutes than those books had in fifteen hours.

One thing had been made clear though. If Orcus' name were sworn upon in no uncertain terms, he'd make the oath a more personal affair.

Apart from that, there was another, potentially beneficial, tidbit he learned. This coming from the books on Titans.

"Dunno, but it's kinda a big deal. You'll see some crazy stuff. Last year, someone took one of the eagles and flew over to the nearest Bargain Mart. She came back with a two whole shopping cart's full of Crispy Cheese 'n' Wieners."

Percy cracked a smirk. "Sounds like Abigail."

"Yeah, it was her. How'd you figure?"

"She's the kind of person who'd do something like that."

Noel grimaced. "You two close?"

"I wouldn't say were are. But, maybe that's not true. Actually, when I look at it again, I guess you could say we're strange acquaintances. Closer than we were before, not close enough to where I'd say we're friends."

"I'd have thought something like the trial—"

"Let me reiterate," Percy stepped under one of the shower heads. He reached for the knob and jerked it, shivering at the cold water sprinkling his skin. "We aren't friends. Doesn't mean we can't be, just that we aren't at the moment."

Noel tentatively took the shower spot next to him, recoiling a bit when the first spurt of freezing mist hit. "Jeez, why're you taking a cold shower?"

"Gotta wake up somehow. Weirdest dream last night..."

"Demigod dream?"

"It wasn't, but almost felt like it was. I'm not sure what else to say about it. Bizarre stuff though."

"Wanna talk abo—"

"Don't think there's anything to talk about, is the thing. It could've been nothing, or it could've been something, but I'm not getting into it right now. I appreciate it, Noel, really I do."

Percy wasn't interested in discussing the dream. There were many reasons, though, the most glaring seemed to birth from the awkwardness of talking about intimacy. Not that he and the cinnamon roll actually did anything too odd or creepy—but more that the dream was something intimate.

He couldn't place the reasoning, but there was something about the fantasy which felt real. It held some form of genuine gravity to it. The seagull, too, was… familiar. At least the way it spoke. The bird's voice itself was androgynous, but its manner of speaking felt similar to something else.

In fact, despite the suggestive advances of the cinnamon roll, it was probably his short conversation with the seagull which held the most intimacy. Percy felt like he could learn some things from that bird. And while he wanted to scrutinize more, he chose not to.

He'd learned his lesson from Oneiroi.

Best to leave it be. Although he hadn't been gifted nice dreams in months, the one from last night was something else. Nightmarish beginning, baffling middle, then a slightly agreeable ending. Really, it'd been one of the best in recent recollection.

Once he rinsed the shampoo out of his hair and the soap from his arms, Percy turned the knob and breathed out. "Never gonna get used to that."

Noel did the same, holding his arms across his chest, still shaking. "No kidding. I never take cold showers. How can you put yourself through this? It's torture."

"And the wise man said, 'Let the frigid waters cleanse your soul's palate. Let its arctic fingers touch that deepest part of you, and cool the flames of passion. Bring unto your heart the calm and the cold. Become one with snow. Yield. Find peace in frozen bliss.'"

"Wow," Noel shook his head. "That was some poetry. Who came up with that?"

Percy smirked. "I did."

"Really? I wouldn't have been surprised if you told me Frost or Thoreau. One of those brand-name poets."

"So I'm some off-brand wannabe?" Percy asked. He didn't wait for an answer and made his way out of the frigidarium. Though he was still cold, his body had stopped its shaking. Back in the atrium, he caught sight of a problem that he hadn't yet resolved.

The sound of the door closing behind Noel drew the problem's attention.

Percy met Octavian's eyes. The augur had been someone he'd meant to speak with, only for his research, daily responsibilities, and miscellaneous plans preventing such. But now he'd been given a chance, and what better time than when half-naked?

If there was, he couldn't think of it. Most people were probably less comfortable being confronted with potential violence in those situations.

It was Octavian who first looked away. He rushed to the warm bath, head down, shoulders tensed, hand holding his bottle of conditioner tightly. The sound of his sandals clopping on the stone floor was like bells tolling. He passed through the door, letting it close behind him, leaving Percy and Noel alone.

"I need to talk to Doc Oc. You didn't see or hear anything."

Noel shuffled away and nodded. "I was never here."

"And make sure nobody gets in. Start a riot if you have to. Just make sure we aren't bothered."

Noel nodded again; slower than before, but with all the same conviction. "I'm like a mountain."

"Exactly. And don't worry about Naomi and Vicky. I'll see what I can do about getting them out. Tit-for-tat."

 **[[AaMT]]**

The warm bath, being most popular, was also the largest—sans the communal pool. Inside the tepidarium were two bathing basins, each able to fit twenty people comfortably. Like the frigidarium and the caldarium, showerheads were attached to the wall. Ever-burning lanterns hung from the ceiling.

Sitting in the basin near the furthest left-hand corner, Octavian rested, eyes closed and head leaning back. Above him, a lantern helped light the bath. Apart from the atriums and the communal pool, the building's bowels were dark and otherwise foreboding.

Percy slipped out of his flip-flops and walked to where his company bathed. He sank into the warm waters, alerting Octavian who started at the disturbance.

"Easy there. It's only another faithful member of the legion," Percy said, resting his elbows on the lip of the tub. His fingers just dipped beneath the water's surface. "Mind if I join you?"

Octavian eyed him, wariness made apparent by both the hesitation and the scrutinizing expression. "I'd have preferred bathing on my own. Otherwise, I wouldn't have woken up so early."

"That so? You normally get up around this time, though."

"Keeping tabs on me, Jackson?"

"Nope. But considering I've never seen you in the bath house before, I figured it was a good guess. Besides, it makes sense for someone like you. I don't see you training with your own cohort. Michael does most of the physical stuff. Most of us come in the afternoon after we've done our share of sweating. But your absence from training means you can take early baths without worrying about going to bed smelling like a stale pickle."

Sometime during Percy explaining his observations, Octavian had taken to looking uneasy.

"So. Did I ever have a choice in speaking with you? Or were you just being polite in asking if you could join me?"

"Depends on what you mean. You had a choice, sure. But I wouldn't have respected your choice. Basically, no. You didn't. So since I'll be relaxing with you"—clearly Octavian wasn't relaxed in the slightest—"why don't we talk a bit before getting the day started?"

"What could we possibly have to talk about?"

Percy shrugged. "Well, there's a lot. Wanna talk about your assassins, or would you prefer just jumping straight to the part where I ask for support."

"Those weren't _my_ assassins. I thought you said—"

"What I say and what I think are two very different things, Octomom. Why in the gods' names would I ever tell you what I actually thought? No better way to lose the upper-hand."

"So you still think I ordered those three to kill you?"

Percy looked up at the lantern. "If that's what you want to think I think. I'm in no position to change your mind in that case."

"If that's not it then what?" Octavian asked impatiently. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Did you send them?"

"I already told you… no."

"Are you sure about that? Because if I were to—hypothetically—learn that you'd lied to me, I promise unpleasantness. Like a magic 8-ball. Do I see pain in your future? 'Signs point to yes.' Believe you me, I'm normally a very pleasant dude. I'd rather keep it that way, y'know?"

Octavian growled. "Jackson, so help me gods if you don't start taking me seriously..."

Percy cut his gaze down, pinning the augur with it. He saw Octavian squirm. Pulling his left arm forward, he put the bracelet on full display. "Do you know how I got this?"

"Everyone's heard the story by now," Octavian said, suddenly sounding subdued.

Grinning, Percy shook his scarred hand, letting the bracelet jingle. "I wanna hear it again. From you. How did I earn this? Tell me how I came to be in possession of Pallas' sword."

There came an uncomfortable silence, born from what Percy assumed was his overly assertive way of conversing. It was a lingering thing, both vacant and full of unspoken understanding. Long ago had his companion stopped looking at him directly.

Taking his right hand, he flicked some water at Octavian. "How did the story go? Hm? Do you remember how He—Lady Vesta told it? Would you like me to remind you? It was an incredible fight. A Titan against a half-blood. Whose ever heard of that? I mean, Hercules and Dionysus fought with the gods against the Giants, but this is a bit different."

Seeing he wouldn't get a reply, Percy continued, "Each of his strikes felt like what I imagine a mortal would say about stopping a charging bull with their bare hands. Every cut from his sword is still here, on my skin. Stygian iron wounds don't heal nicely, even when a god is your medic."

He motioned to the various small scars on his upper body. The lines drew up his arms, shoulders, chest, and sides. They blemished his skin and, although there wasn't an inordinate amount, each served to set itself apart from his natural pigmentation.

The worst was hidden. It sat under the water, a resident of his lower torso. Unlike the others, which were whitish-pink, the last injury Pallas inflicted still bore the semblance of freshness. Red, raw, and atrophic, it wouldn't be winning him any swimsuit model awards, that was for sure.

"The fight itself wasn't long. Maybe only a couple of minutes. At most, that is. But it was still pretty tough. I made a lot of mistakes. He made a few too. In the end, though… well… how about you tell me the rest? I've been talking too long. My throat's killin' me."

It took some time, during which Percy's eyes never moved from his company's face, but eventually, Octavian found the voice he so liked to use. "You defeated the Titan Pallas. Burned him by the flame given to you by Lady Vesta. You burned him alive."

Percy smiled easily, his eyelids dropping some as he did, pulling on the expression he'd reserved for times when condescension was necessary. He moved his arm back, again letting his elbow rest on the tub's edge. "And do you know why? Oktoberfest, can you tell me why I did that? It sounds so brutish, doesn't it? I must've had a good reason."

Again, the response came only after an initial silence. This time, the quiet slogged through the tension slower than before. Octavian's words were barely enough to dispel the oppressive stillness. "I assume it was because you were in danger."

"Ah, thanks. Now I remember. You're right. Because I was in danger. So let's tack on some correlation and get this part of our conversation out of the way."

Percy rolled his head, feeling his neck crack. "Oh by the gods that felt good. Now, Octane, it's true I like to be safe. Therefore, I tend to kill what tries to kill me. So! If someone were to, say, hire people to do the aforementioned killing—fun word, _aforementioned_ —then what do you think my reply would be? Don't be shy. Tell me the first thing that pops to mind."

"You'd repay the favor."

"Right again. With that in mind, I'm sure glad you aren't the one who sent those bullies after me. That'd hurt my feelings. Not to mention, if it were true, then you'd have lied to me." Percy shook his head mournfully.

"Terrible. So, if it was you, and you came clean now, I think I would be feeling generous enough to let you off with a few broken fingers instead of something worse. How's that sound? Have anything to confess?"

That was a bluff. Percy didn't want to go that far. Doing so would draw a compelling parallel to torture, and Percy wasn't really looking to cause prolonged pain on anyone.

Octavian crossed his arms. "No. I'm not the one who tried to kill you."

Percy narrowed his eyes. The new quiet which befell them was his doing. It was an unhurried thing, smooth and relaxed. Then, with a single nod, he looked away. "Maybe I'm off my hinges, but I believe you. So let's talk about what I _expect_ moving forward. After all, my goodwill gave you peace of mind. It's only fair to repay me. And I'm nothing if not a _benevolent_ creditor."

Even though the bath was warm, Octavian shivered in place.

 **[[AaMT]]**

The wind was strong and the sun hot, although all light seemed to disappear near Pallas' sword.

From his perch high atop a hiking trail in Siesta Valley Rec Area, Percy could taste the dry air. If he were to turn around, he'd be able to see in each direction for quite some ways. In fact, he could see Caldecott Tunnel and Claremont Hills already.

Yellow-brown grass sprouted in sickly tufts on the hilltop. Down either side of the ridge were trees, bushy and green in the swelter.

Right in front of him stood a scaly woman—the last in her group who would inevitably fall to him.

Percy inched Pallas' sword to the left and parried the dracaena's trident away. She tried to jab at him again, but he leaned right and knocked her away again.

He took two short steps forward and closed the distance, sword cutting up as he got near.

Her right arm was severed. Black blood ran from the rapidly graying stump.

She screeched when the appendage dropped, taking her weapon with it. Eyes hateful enough to kill a man five times over bore into Percy's.

He remained steady, backing up two paces, sword rotating with his arm defensively. Stygian iron could absorb a monster's essence, which obviously put righteous fear into the snake-woman's heart. It would have been in her best interest to turn and slither away—not that Percy would have allowed such.

Impetus rested between his teeth, and he rolled it around, realizing he would have to take another shower. Up until then, he hadn't thought much about it. His day had passed eventfully, but not to the point of sweating.

After speaking with Octavian, he'd gone and found some old Spanish manuals on fencing with _two-hande_ d swords in the library. (Things seemed to lead him there more often these days.) Of course, he read a few of the "rules" the author mentioned before checking the manual out.

The transliteration to English, while a bit difficult to follow, gave him enough to work with. Unfortunately, he hadn't gotten any real practice in before more trouble popped up.

At lunch, a messenger found Jason and Reyna at Percy's table. His news turned out to be reports of a suspicious group of humans hanging around the far end of Caldecott Tunnel. Two of the regular scouts had seen them only an hour apart.

When it was clear that Jason wouldn't take chances, Percy volunteered himself to investigate. Even though he still hadn't heard what Jason wanted to talk to him about, circumstances drew them apart yet again, meaning he'd have to keep waiting.

Regardless, he'd been itching to get out of camp. Training could wait for a few hours.

What he really wanted to do was visit his Mom. He wouldn't, but he wanted to. As soon as he'd stepped out of the maintenance tunnel, he'd thought about shirking the job and hitching a ride. But he hadn't done so.

Instead, Percy spent most of his time hunting the group, following them through three separate monster ambushes, until they finally lost him walking one of Siesta Valley's inclined trails. If it hadn't been for his damn leg, he might have been able to keep pace.

Then again, it hadn't been his first choice to give chase. He'd only conceded to placate Abigail's wanderlust. And while he would preferably have investigated on his own, Jason only agreed to let him go if he was accompanied by a competent member of the legion or three decently suitable candidates. At hearing that, Abigail had offered herself for the job, apparently not concerned with missing the festivities.

Percy raised his left hand to the swords leather grip. He let his fingers close around the handle, near the pommel. His right hand still supported most of the weight and was placed closer to the guard.

Head jerking to the side, he executed a subpar feint before swinging true. The sword fell in a diagonal arc, splitting the light as it descended.

The dracaena moved aside and avoided the initial strike. From where he stood, Percy noted her path.

He bent his arms and twisted his torso a bit as he redirected the sword's trajectory. The momentum his weapon had built was somewhat preserved and then sent up.

Again, the blade cut through flesh, removing her other arm at the elbow. This time, with his foe still in shock, Percy drew the sword back, then followed with a short thrust. Six inches of Stygian iron won purchase in the monster's collarbone.

The dracaena withered quickly, reduced to dark ash in less than a second. She'd never reform again.

"Hot damn that was cool!" An easily excitable voice cried out from behind him, almost making him whirl and slash in defense.

Percy took a deep breath. He let the sword shrink and wrap itself around his wrist again. His practical use of the manual's rules seemed effective.

And though the skirmish had been little more than an appetite whetter, Percy knew rules in a book could only be translated parallel to what the context of any confrontation demanded. In the heat of battle, one couldn't rely solely on memorized motions or technique. Instinct, both in its freedom and constraint, would always be a part of fighting.

Or so the books claimed—the irony of which wasn't lost on him.

Luckily, the monsters hadn't given him much trouble. They'd nicked him once on the ribs before he'd started an offensive counterattack. After that, all they'd done was try to defend, which gave him a pressing advantage.

He rolled his head and replied evenly. "That's my middle name. Cool."

"The Cool Cucumber. Vanilla Ice. Absolute zero." Abigail nodded wisely. She walked to him and clapped her hands together. Around her waist, a gladius hung in its scabbard. On her other hip, she'd secured a small silver flask. "Dōmo arigatō, Mr. Roboto."

"That doesn't even make sense. And can we not ignore the fact that you let me fight a gaggle of monsters on my own?" Percy asked, gesturing to the other piles of ash around him. "You made the wounded man do your dirty work. Pretty sick."

She held up her thumb and pinky, shaking her hand. "Totally gnarly! You were, like, so completely tubular, brah! Catching some rad waves, dude!" Her voice was that of a stereotypical California surf-bro.

"Sick as in _you're a twisted individual_."

"I guess you could call me a _Twisted Sister_?" Her eyebrows wiggled playfully. She elbowed him a few times, just some light taps to his own, though with them came a closeness that he stepped away from.

Had she always been like this or had he spent too much time with her? Percy ran a hand over his face, wiping the sweat away.

"Besides," she said, plucking a small gold knife from the nearest ash mound. "I helped. My aim with these bad boys is second to none at camp. Not that I'm too shabby with this, either." Her hand patted the sword.

Percy's mouth formed a wry smile. So that's why the second dracaena had basically fallen onto his sword. "Well, we lost the mortals. Let's head back and report to the centurions."

Abigail shook her head and pointed at the treeline directly in front of them. "I caught up with them down there, right before I came back to help you. Don't worry, I left one alive for questioning."

Percy gave her a look and started walking. Abigail was beside him, hands behind her head, a tune whistled through her lips.

The muscles in his right arm, especially his triceps and those in his forearm, were aching. That damn sword was ridiculous. He wasn't sure if the new forms he would learn could help reduce the strain.

"Hey, do you have plans for later?" Abigail asked.

"How much later?"

"Dunno. Maybe around eight? After dinner celebrations and the ballot are held, for sure."

"I guess not," Percy said, lightly massaging his arm. "Why?"

Abigail grinned. "Up for a rousing game of strip poker? We've already got seven people. You'd make it nice and even."

Percy stopped mid-stride, a difficult thing when moving downhill. "Strip poker? As in poker—"

"Where the main goal is to get other people naked! Yup, that." Her head bobbed cheerfully, grin having turned crooked. She pointed a finger gun at him and pretended to pull the trigger. "Do you feel lucky, punk?"

"Seven people agreed to that? What kind of perverts did you manage to convince?"

"Teenage perverts. I guess you could say it smells like..." She trailed off expectantly. The rubies that made up her eyes glimmered with mischief.

"A trap," Percy deadpanned.

"Teen spirit," she corrected, unconcerned with him ruining the reference. "Let's see. We've got Jay, Queenie, Split State, Grain Girl, Vicks VapoRub, and Christmas Carol. Oh, and me, of course—your most wonderful host."

Percy scrunched his face and went through the list. "Jason, Reyna, Dakota, Gwen, Vicky, and Noel?"

"And me!"

He ignored her interjection and crossed his arms. "Why'd you invite Noel and Vicky? And why'd they agree? Seems weird for them. Actually, how did you get anybody in on this? You do realize blackmailing your friends is frowned on, right?"

"Hoh! Jumping to conclusions, are we? Do you think I can't be persuasive?" She put her hands between her thighs and bent her upper body toward him. Her eyes gazed up into his. "It'll be fun. I promise. We'll laugh, maybe play half-naked charades, have a bit too much to drink without parental supervision—party like normal kids our age. At least, that's what I'm going for."

 _Oh_. _Oh, that was just too sad_.

Percy looked back to the piles of ash. They served to remind him of the real danger faced in the coming war. Sure, when there were only four, he could take them with some trouble.

A whole army's worth of dracaena, Cyclopes, griffins, and other monsters didn't paint a picture of decisive victory. Especially not if they had to fight Titans on top of that. In fact, he'd say their chances were abysmal if any Titan were to join the fray.

Maybe the gods would keep the Titans occupied? How many more Titans were there?

And then there was the ever-looming threat of Typhon, the Storm Giant and Father of Monsters. The earthquakes had quelled for some time, but Percy knew better than to hope for the best.

Why, again, did saving the world come down to a bunch of hyperactive, dyslexic, hormonal teenagers instead of the mega-powerful gods of old? What were the gods doing at the moment? Why in the hell weren't they motivating their kids?

Was the world in any real danger? Percy, suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed by the scope of his problems, took several deep breaths. His legs were shaking, he noticed with no shortage of chagrin. So too, did his heart pound hard against his ribs, a constant throb telling him he was stressed.

"Alright, count me in," he said with a sigh.

"Woo!" She did a little dance in place. "Time to party baby! Alright, what's your poison of choice?"

"How'd you convince Jason and Reyna to let you smuggle alcohol?" He'd never been drunk, but going by what he'd read, watched, and heard, intoxication was supposed to magically make all problems seem small. If that were true, he needed to get hammered.

She laughed and slapped his arm. "Too good! You're hilarious, Perce. My dad's the party god. I can turn most liquid into booze. Only things I can't change are water and body fluids. Oh, and nectar."

Percy chuckled along with her. "Thank goodness. Let the drink flow! That's a pretty neat trick, but does it mean no water into wine?"

"Afraid not. Get me some apple juice, and I can make it tequila, though."

"I'll take ten."

Abigail laughed again. "Ten tequilas? Not shots or bottles? Just ten tequilas?"

He pretended to look aghast. "You're right. Better make it fifteen."

"Sounds like a plan," she grinned, holding up her fist. They bumped knuckles, then fell into step beside one another, continuing down the ridge and nearing the treeline.

 **[[AaMT]]**

The only living mortal Abigail left wasn't exactly in the best way. This, Percy noticed almost immediately. Blood seeped into his conspicuous Hawaiian T-shirt from two holes in his gut, which he tried applying pressure to with his arms. A pistol lay to his left, several feet away from his reach.

Around him, the other three mortals' bodies rested, dead. On his hip, Percy saw a tacky fanny pack.

"Too bad we don't have more guns like that in camp," Abigail said, motioning with her head. "They're fun to use."

Percy frowned. He'd been preoccupied when Abigail caught the mortals, so he hadn't heard the shots. "Why don't you take it?"

She gave him a funny glance. "I doubt we have any Imperial gold bullets for that. Maybe we could make some, but we already have to worry about getting ammo for those other guns you guys brought in. We gotta prioritize."

"Right. Well, let's get to it." Percy squatted and roughly shook the last man by the shoulder.

Their eyes met, and the man quickly looked away with a shiver. When he saw Abigail, though, his face twisted with abject horror.

"N-NO! No!—no!—no!—no!—no! Get her—away from me! N-no—no—get—away!" He tried to move away, only to groan in pain when he bent his torso.

Percy wrapped his fingers around the man's throat and pinned him to the ground. "Stop squirming. You'll bleed out faster that way. If you answer my questions, I'll patch you up, and you can go on your way."

"Now," he continued to talk when the man stopped wiggling, "do you have a name?"

The reply came as a croaked, "Y-Y-Yosemite."

Percy sighed and loosened his grip. He softened his gaze, giving the man a placating, pitying smile. "A real name, I mean. Wouldn't that be easier? Just a first name. It's not like I'd know you just from that."

There was hesitation in the mortal's expression, but it left when he shook his shaved head. "Yosemite. That's it."

"Fine," Percy conceded, his face rigid again. "Then, since you insist, I'll call you Mite. Like termite. Or dust mite."

Mite didn't say anything to that.

"Alright, Mite. Let's get this over with. Tell me everything, and we go our separate ways. Refuse, and I break your bones." Percy's explanation was deliberately slow and empty of any negative tone. Of course, he wouldn't actually resort to torture, but Mite didn't need to know that.

After a few seconds of not getting an answer, Percy took his hand off Mite's neck. He backed up just a little, then wrenched his body forward and slammed his fist into the man's cheek.

"Now," he said, grabbing Mite by the collar of his shirt, "let's try this again. Tell me. Or get punched more. Choice is yours, bud."

"If I told you anything… even if you let me go… t-they would find me. T-they'd kill me. You've never met anyone like the g-guys who hired us."

Percy arched an eyebrow. "Try me."

"I… can't..."

"Wrong answer."

Percy's fist hit the same spot again, and Mite's head bounced off the ground when it recoiled. He was reaching his own self-imposed limit. Punching and maybe a bit of appendage twisting would be about the line he'd toe. Anything more, and Percy felt his mouth sour. Torturing mortals was definitely a boundary.

"Who, what, when, where, and why, Mite. The Five Ws, as I've learned, is actually pretty nice to list."

"B-big guy. Tall. Called h-himself A-A-Atlas. H-he hired us some years back. Ha-haven't heard f-from him since we started."

Percy shared a look with Abigail. He turned back to the mercenary. "Who's in charge now, then?"

Again, Mite refused to answer immediately. He'd shifted his entire face away, eyes staring off into the small growth of trees that they were at the edge of. He pointedly refused to so much as let himself glance their way.

When Percy went to punch him again, a hand closed around his clenched fist.

"Let me try," Abigail said softly. She pulled him away and stood directly in front of Mite, cracking her knuckles. The watch around her wrist reflected some light, catching their prisoner's eye. "Answer his question, _Yosemite_."

Her voice was sub-zero, freezing the man in place. The muscles in his neck strained even as sweat glistened on his smooth scalp. Mite locked eyes with Percy, though they trembled in their sockets as if an enormous strain were placed on him through such a simple act.

"He—Hyperion."

"And what did you hope to do today?" Abigail asked. There was a low clicking sound. "Brilliant plan, really. You had no idea what you were up against, Yosemite."

"You're a fucking monster," the man breathed. "I won't let you get away with it!"

The next second, Abigail was shouting and leaping toward Percy. He had little time to notice the round object firmly clasped in Mite's hand, close to the fanny pack.

Abigail pulled Percy away. They stepped twice together before she threw herself at him. The world tilted when she slammed her shoulder into his midsection, toppling him over just as a blast of dirt, debris, and sound hit them.

Searing pain flared in Percy's leg. All that filled his ears was a high-pitched whining. Vertigo swept him, the sky he stared at kept falling closer to him, only to never actually touch his nose as he feared it would.

Unsure of what to do, he lay still, breathing heavily to stave the panic off. Every small movement his eyes made sent the Earth spinning on its axis. Each blink reset his vision to its unsteady, wavering state.

Eventually, the constant throbbing in his leg made him lift his head. On his chest, most of Abigail's face buried itself into his shirt. He saw her back rise and fall, meaning she was at least still alive. Percy blinked hard, hoping to quell the disorientation.

It was only when he noticed the blood staining her purple camp shirt that he bolted upright. She didn't react to his quick shift. He saw several small tears in the shirt's fabric, from where blood oozed.

"Gods." Percy looked down at her. He hadn't brought any ambrosia. It wasn't supposed to be anything difficult. Jason had explicitly told them not to go too far from camp.

His hands went to her back. He hadn't brought ambrosia or nectar or unicorn draught. He hadn't thought to be better safe than sorry. He'd been so confident in himself that he disregarded common sense.

And it'd come back to bite him. If she hadn't thrown herself in front of him to knock him down, he'd have been hit. She'd saved him. No questions. For whatever reason, she'd taken the brunt of the shrapnel. What the hell was she thinking? Didn't she have any gods-damn sense of self-preservation? What kind of moron jumped in front of danger like that?

Percy gulped. He didn't know what to do. She was bleeding. And she would keep doing so unless he found a way to close those holes peppering her back. Even then, some of her internal organs may have been damaged. Liver, kidneys, intestines. If injuries to those weren't treated, she'd die even if he stopped the external bleeding.

Heal her.

He had to heal her himself. But he was substandard with that power. _Mending_ was hard.

Harder than sacrificing his flesh to _conflagration_ and domineering Titanic Energy. Much harder than _rending_. He'd practiced in Vesta's temple on himself, failing spectacularly at healing either his hand or pelvis.

Sure, he'd had better luck fixing smaller cuts he inflicted on himself, but even those took time.

Time was something he just didn't have much of, he realized, looking at his reddened hands, slick with her blood.

Still, there was nothing else to do. So, taking a deep breath and focusing his attention solely on what he intended to accomplish, Percy bowed his head.

Around him, he felt _the aether_ react negatively to what he wanted. It refused to comply. The most intense sensation of rejection came from Abigail's body.

Mortality fought against him.

And he, out of obligation and sudden anger at the injustice, fought back. His body shook as the seconds passed. When his eyes grew heavy, he stifled a yawn and tried to push past the drowsiness.

 _Abigail didn't deserve this._

He would do it. His father had written that healing also required solid conviction, much like using Titanic Energy, rallying the silver flames, and ripping open new wounds.

But this kind of compassionate power ran perpendicular to what the others stood for. _Mending_ was a rejection of mortality and the natural way of life.

 _He wouldn't let her die_.

"C'mon..." He'd taken to muttering under his breath. "C'mon. C'mon!"

Percy felt Impetus stab into his gums and the roof of his mouth. Warmth splashed against his tongue. He tasted copper but didn't stop from digging his toothpick further into his tissue.

He was angry. And he had sense enough to know it was directed mainly at himself. "C'mon! Work!"

The toothpick pierced deeper.

"Work!"

And deeper again. White hot pain shot through the roots of his lower incisors, traveling up his teeth and down his spine.

His hands were shimmering with faint silver light.

But they'd been doing so since he started. Abigail's wounds hadn't closed. They still bled everywhere. He'd been there for well over a minute, and not a single thing had changed.

"Pax… Hestia… Lupa!" He looked at the sky. "Please… please..."

Nothing happened. Percy glanced around when the wind rolled by, and seeing nothing, squeezed his eyes shut. "Mithras… dad?..."

This time, he did feel something. The wind had died.

When he looked down, though, the wounds hadn't been reduced in number or severity. Not in the slightest. Blood completely soaked through her shirt.

"You're warm..."

Percy felt relief wash over him at hearing Abigail's voice. It was weak, but at least she was still alive. Her breathing was shallow.

"Abig—"

"Pretty color… too," she muttered, having turned her head to look at his hands.

"Abiga—"

"My flask. Nectar."

Percy's eyes widened. _Why hadn't she told him sooner?!_

He reached over and undid the clasp which held the flask in place and opened it. Abigail rolled over with a deep-suffering groan and craned her neck. Percy supporter her head with one hand while the other poured the nectar into her mouth.

When she clamped her lips shut and turned her head, he pulled away, realizing she probably didn't want to be incinerated.

They remained in the same position for several more minutes, Percy occasionally giving Abigail small sips when she motioned for it. He didn't say anything, and thankfully, neither did she during that time. Small pieces of metal fell from her back as the wounds closed. He quickly noticed his body was still a bit shaky.

After a bit more time, she sat up, grunting and wincing. "You can take the rest."

Percy frowned. "You need it."

"No more for me. Besides, your leg looks like it's seen better days," she said, brushing some of her hair behind one ear. Her eyes were locked intently on him, almost to an unnerving degree, but Percy looked away and saw what she was talking about.

"Right. Forgot about that." He took a short drink. "How're you feeling?"

"Not the best," she rolled her shoulders a few times. "Nothing that'll keep me down, though. Thanks for the help."

Percy waved her gratitude away with flippancy. "You probably saved my life. Guess I should thank you, instead."

They both nodded. Abigail leaned back on her hands and stared at the sky. Her eyes would occasionally shoot him glances.

She seemed tempted to ask him something, but instead settled for a rather lame, "Ditto on that first part."

They looked at each other, then she returned her eyes to the sky while he locked his on the ground.

How long they sat there for was lost on Percy. He reflected on the situation, and how he could justify having any sort of fun after what had just happened. But with those questions, another one was raised.

Why the hell shouldn't he be allowed to live more vicariously? He, like all other demigods, was tasked with a grand ordeal. They all damn well deserved to squeeze some fun out of whatever possible.

Eventually, feeling his legs going numb, he stood up and stuck his hand out. He tried to smile. "We should head back. Strip poker isn't gonna play itself."

Abigail stared at his hand distantly. The unfocused, dazed quality to her gaze slowly ebbed away, being replaced by something equivocal. Then, she smiled steadily and stood without any assistance. "Yeah. Sounds good."

"That's a beautiful bracelet, by the way," she commented as they walked back up the ridge. "You got it from Pallas, right?"

Percy nodded and lifted his left hand to the sun. "Yup. It's cold. Always cold. It's not as nice as your watch."

Abigail smiled again. "True. But this feels a little tight on me, anyway. It chafes more than those handcuffs did. Does your bracelet feel like a chain? It looks like one."

"In a way, sure. And if your watch bothers you, why don't you just take it off?" he asked.

"Well, I can't. It tells time, duh. Your solution is too simple. How would I tell time without it?"

Percy lifted an eyebrow. "Get a new watch? Or have it adjusted."

She chuckled and shook her head. "If you're willing to pay for replacing or adjusting it, then by all means. If not, I guess I'll have to live with what I've got."

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "You're a weird one, aren't you?"

"Wow. If you're just figuring out these things now, I worry about you," Abigail snickered. She bumped her hip against his. "But at the same time, I think you'll be fine. You really are scary, aren't you?"

Percy smirked. "Just one of my better traits."

* * *

 **A/N: I'm a lazy ass who didn't respond to any reviews before posting this chapter. I apologize, of course, and would say I have good reason, but I don't. I do, however, appreciate the support you all show. Of course, I try to answer within a... (reasonable?)... amount of time normally, but after coming back from a few days of spring break vacation out of state... well I just wrote this and wanted to post it. I don't think there weren't many questions, so if you have one you really wanted answered, either ask it again or PM me.**

 **Anyway, thanks again for all your feedback, you wonderful audience members you. Oh, and I'll be skipping strip poker next chapter. Sorry.**


	22. Impend

**Disclaimer: I don't own PJO, HoO, or ToA, or any of those other works.**

* * *

22\. Impend

* * *

Percy raised his mug. "Congratulations on the fancy new robes."

Jason and Reyna, who sat across from him on the balcony of the principia, followed his lead and toasted. Both were wearing their new outfits. The purple of their cloaks worked well with the near-reflective gold of their armor. Several medals decorated both Jason and Reyna's chests, though more were on Jason.

Taking a sip of his coffee, Percy almost grimaced at the bitterness. He didn't like coffee. Pushing the cup away, he steepled his fingers and leaned forward. It had been three days since Jason and Reyna were elected to be the new praetors. In that time, Percy hadn't found the time to speak with them. They'd been busy. Very busy. No doubt, some of that was because Percy himself had advised on courses of action for the future.

But those meetings had been some weeks back already. He hadn't wanted to give them _too_ much to think about. Sure, overburdening them might have worked in getting them to ask for more advice, but he had other things in the works.

"So, have you two decided on what you want to do?" Percy asked. He kept his eyes on them and noticed when they stole a glance at one another. Below him, through the balcony's slotted railing, he saw several people stop and wave. The three of them waved back.

"We've talked about it," Reyna said. She was tapping one of her fingers on the arm of her chair.

Percy smiled. "And?"

"You make good arguments," Jason conceded. He cleared his throat and looked at New Rome, the city practically glittering in the sun. "We can't afford dissent right now. However you look at it, though, we're gonna get it. But this will let us act faster. Hopefully."

"That's the point, right?" Percy asked. "Besides, once the war ends, the Senate can have their say back. For the time being, we can't have your decisions vetoed."

Reyna sighed, her finger moving faster now. "But you have to understand there's gonna be backlash. Imagine what Octavian would say about this. Michael? Even Victor and Hank might not see it our way. And they're all in the legion. The civilian senators won't like it."

"All of the senators from New Rome are former soldiers of the legion. They'll sympathize, I'm sure. Most people will. Victor and Hank will go along with it if we get a majority. Michael's loyal to Rome. He might have doubts, but we can explain the benefits." Percy paused. He leaned back in his chair and kicked one leg over the other. "As for Octavian… just let me worry about him. He owes me a favor, after all."

Without waiting for a response this time, he reached down, taking a folder from below his chair and presenting it to them. He rested it on the table.

Jason grabbed the folder. Reyna moved closer to him when he flipped the first tab open.

Percy watched as they read the proposal he'd drafted. It wasn't very long, only three pages. He hadn't felt like going too far into his pet-project and bringing them more than what was strictly necessary.

"Well," Jason looked at Reyna, putting the papers down. "That was… unexpected."

"How long have you planned on pitching this to us?" asked Reyna.

Percy took a second to think. "Not too long."

"And you think this is really a necessity?" Jason asked. He was leaning forward in his chair, ready to hear what Percy had to say. There was an undeniable thirst for answers in them—in his expression.

"Honestly? No. But I do think it's a step up from what we have."

"Do you think they'll be up for the challenge?"

"No. Not all of them. Apart from a few I'll choose, there're others I have in mind too. Frank, Vicky, Noel, Naomi."

Reyna frowned. "The traitors? Why them? What could they offer you that someone with a good head on their shoulders and years of fighting experience can't?"

Percy fired his own stare back at her. To his pleasure—and odd disappointment—she didn't so much as move a muscle. Her gaze hadn't faltered. "A lot. I know them. They'll be better for me to… train as rigorously as I need. I can promise improvement in them. Just give me a month."

"Vicky shouldn't even have been allowed back on active duty," Jason muttered. "She's just monster fodder. Can't use a shield and sword at the same time. Can't brace a shield wall. We should just dismiss her from service."

"No."

Both praetors looked at Percy. Reyna asked, "And why shouldn't we? She's a liability. And with what you're planning, she's no good for you. The best of the best; that's what we need, right?"

" _She's insurance_ ," Percy corrected. "If we let her go now, it only hurts our long-term plans. We need to look the part. Think of her as a poster-girl. Even the crippled are serving, so the able-bodied should do the same. Maybe it'll make us look heartless, but as long as she stays happy and talks good about the job to a few people, I think it's for the best."

Neither Jason or Reyna said anything at that. They contemplated, faces scrunched and eyes far away. The rumble of carts on the road and the clanging of metal pounding against metal still resounded through their square of the encampment. So too, was it easy to hear the idle conversations that may have been just a bit too loud to be considered respectful.

"Could you give us a minute to talk it over?" Jason asked suddenly.

Percy nodded and wove his fingers together. There was an odd hesitation between him and his praetors. Nobody had taken to stand, all remaining in their seats. Percy, realizing they were waiting for him to leave, pushed his chair back and stepped into the principia. He thought on the awkward situation. If it had been a week or two back, they might have actually been the ones to step out.

Again, the odd feeling of satisfaction and troubled sentiment came to him. They still deferred to him, although it felt like the time for such was slowly coming to an end. With them being praetors, it wouldn't look good if they capitulated to him often.

' _At least they're coming into their own. I wonder if their relationship will change.'_

The door to the balcony opened. Jason and Reyna walked in, moving to the large desk at the other end of the room. They hadn't taken very long by Percy's estimate. He found it odd but didn't let his curiosity show.

"Before we can decide anything, I think it's about time we get some things out of the way." Reyna put her hands on the desk and leaned over. Though there was diffidence in her eyes, it came backed by something harder. "Percy, you know you can talk to us, right?"

He cocked his head. "How's that?"

"We've shown we can trust one another when the chips are down," Jason said. "So, there's no reason for us to go back on that kind of thing. We're comrades. Friends."

Percy paused. "Of course."

"Is there anything you want to… talk about?" Jason asked. "Are you still in pain? Do you need something else that we can get you?"

The line of questioning wasn't expected, and while it sounded to be coming from an earnest place, Percy found himself suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation being taken out of his hands. A stab of steel in his pelvis almost made him flinch, taking the anxiety, morphing it, and leaving it as open vexation.

"What're you getting at?" he asked.

"We just want to help."

"Help? If I'd wanted, I would've come to you. Seeing that I didn't should give you a hint."

"Is it so wrong to be worried?"

"Depends on where the worry comes from. What's with the question?" Percy crossed his arms.

Reyna sighed. Her fingers couldn't seem to be still and had taken to drumming on the praetor's desk. "We've gotten some… observations from a close associate regarding you."

"Oh, yeah, that clears everything up just great."

"We—"

"I mean, it's not like we have problems on a bigger scale or anything, right? Monsters? Kamikaze mortals? Assassins on the inside? Oh, and I almost forgot Titans. Hm, yeah, these aren't really a big deal."

"We're more than capable of multi-tasking. Those other things are still on our mind, but—"

"You thought it would be better to ask nonsensical questions?"

"That isn't—"

"Look, there's nothing to be worried about. I'm doing fine. Let's go back to talking about my proposal and how—"

"Would you not change the subject!" Reyna slapped her hand on the table, rattling the jar of jelly beans. "Gods, you can be such an ass sometimes!"

"A lot of the time," Jason corrected.

"Woah, hold up—"

"Enough!" Reyna's hands curled into fists. She took a deep breath and thinned her lips. "Percy, you aren't… taking anything else except painkillers for your hand and leg, are you?"

Percy frowned, stifling his knee-jerk sarcastic reaction and analyzing the question. He wasn't sure what she was asking, though. Part of him wondered if maybe they were suspicious of him using _mending_. But that didn't make sense. It wouldn't give them a reason for acting how they were.

What bothered him more, though, was Reyna's harsh interruption. She'd never spoken like that to him. Even when they'd first been getting to know one another, passing the point of initial friction, she'd never blown up like that. Her responses could be cold, or distant, or half-baked, but they had never been explosive.

"What?" He stopped caring to solve the mystery himself. Better to let them feed him the answer, and maybe then he could figure what their problem was.

"I think what Reyna is getting at," Jason started, "is that we've been told that you seem to be suffering symptoms of… self-medication… with heroine."

"Heroine?" Percy parroted. He blinked when he realized he'd interpreted the word wrong. "Oh, heroin. Drugs. You—wait—you actually think I'm doing drugs?"

Affronted, he grabbed the nearest chair, turned it around, and sat. His leg bounced as he stared, incredulous at the audacity of his praetors. The gall he'd just seen and heard almost made him angry. No, he was angry already. The build had been gradual, but it was there, and still climbing.

Stress. Where once it had knotted and corded under Percy's skin, stacking itself over months, he now felt it all winding in his stomach and chest, which both felt tight and leaden. He doubted there was anything he could do to rein in the anger, meaning the best option would be just letting a bit out at a time. He didn't want to explode.

"You're kidding me, right? _That's_ what you think? You beat around the bush, talk it out, annoy me, and _this_ is what you have to show for it? Really? That's it? Wow, just—I'm actually in legitimate shock—where do I start?" Percy took Impetus from his mouth and stabbed it into the table. "There are so many things wrong with your line of thinking. But first, I wanna know how you came up with this."

Jason chewed on his lip, averting his eyes for a moment. "That really doesn't matter."

"It matters to me." A hot ball of metal dug in Percy's hip, making him clench the muscles in his abdomen.

"There's really no reason to get into it," Jason insisted.

Percy's fingers curled on the arm on his chair. The wood creaked under his grasp. "Defensive much?"

"I could say the same about you. That reaction was a bit over the top don't you think?"

His teeth ground together, the pressure building and constricting his throat. "I don't overreact. Word ain't in my vocabulary."

"A simple 'no' would've sufficed."

Percy scoffed. Sweat had formed near his armpits and on his back. "With you? Hilarious. Do you think I don't know how to pick my responses? _I'm_ the one training _you_ in reading people. I know you—both of you—enough to see how this discussion ends."

Jason rolled his eyes. "Please, enlighten us."

"You'll have no choice but to either believe me or let it drop."

"And why would we do that?"

"Because you have no foundation for suspicion," Percy snapped. His words came unbidden. They were acrimonious, instinctively meant to bring his praetors down off their soapbox. "You got zilch. And without something solid, you have no choice but to hear and believe."

Jason went to say something, but Reyna put her hand up, stopping him just before he could talk. "He's baiting us."

Percy wanted to curse. He'd been so close to finding the reason for their sudden accusation and putting an end to it. But the conversation was out of his control. As long as they held their cards close, he couldn't do much to dent their notions.

"Are you supplementing your recovery with heroin?" Reyna asked, stare more intense than he'd ever seen. "No bull. Give me a straight yes or no. I swear, I need to get some lie-detecting dogs or something around you."

"Do I look like I'd do drugs? Do you have eyes, Reyna?"

"Yes. Or. No." Reyna bit out the words like they were fire in her throat.

"No!"

"Are you sure?" She asked, more heatedly. "Anything else then?"

"By the gods—are you fucking kidding? Read my lips… No. New. Taxes."

Jason let out a frustrated noise. "Stop joking around."

"I'm telling you no!"

"We're your praetors now. Even though you're our friend, if we think something is affecting your ability to serve the legion, we won't hesitate to use our position to help you. What you went through with Pallas was horrible, but—"

"What the hell are you digging to find?"

Reyna leaned forward. "We want the truth!"

"Truth? What fucking truth are you looking for?" Percy growled. His blood boiled. "I've told you the truth! You see the truth every time we meet. So then, if that's the case, what fucking _truth_ could you possibly want? What other truth is there? Huh?!"

Percy shot to his feet and threw the chair aside, slamming his hands on the desk. "You think you understand what I went through with Pallas? You think you have an idea of what it was like? You don't have a damn clue. Not about Pallas, not about anything."

He grabbed Impetus and put it between his teeth. "And so, even if I _was_ shooting up, then I don't see why it would be any of your business. If you want to reject my proposal, fine. If you want to have me tested, fine! But stop—and I mean this sincerely, from the bottom of my heart—stop pretending you have _any_ _right_ empathizing or sympathizing with me. It's disgusting."

Face flush with anger, Percy pushed himself from the table and took several shaky breaths. The atmosphere had become painfully tense.

Humiliation and indignity soon—far too soon—spun into his brain, growing from there, making him hypersensitive to his every action. It had gone too far. He found himself aware of the heat in his chest. Fire begged him to be sparked, fanned.

When had been the last time he lost his cool in an argument? Though he found himself wondering, the answer didn't come to mind. It was a rare thing. And even worse was _how_ he'd reacted. He preferred keeping his anger cold. At least then, he still felt like he was in control. Erupting like he had probably only served to indicate instability. Him throwing tantrums like that wouldn't do him any favors, and as much as he wished otherwise, there wasn't a good way to recover from explosive anger.

The best thing he could do was to apologize, he figured. Not really ideal, but it was a functional out. Still, he was aware that if he backed down, both Jason and Reyna would become too comfortable in their positions. They needed to be knocked down a peg. He saw it in their eyes. Somehow, they'd come up with the idea that they were better than him. Even more so than before, they thought their control extended to him. But, he knew they were wrong in their assumption. He still controlled them.

Percy licked his lips. He bent down, grabbed the chair he'd thrown off the floor, and took one more deep breath in. This one didn't shudder. His face no longer burned with shame. The anger, once as tall as the ramparts he'd created on the sandbar, had died to smoldering coals. Under his ministration, those embers were buried; hidden, out of sight, but still very much alive where it mattered.

This, he thought, was control. An idea on how to handle things soon formed.

"Sorry about that," he said. "I've gone through a lot recently."

Pulling the chair closer, he sat down and, resting his elbows on the desk, gave each of them a half-hearted glare. "But you pushed me. I don't appreciate my friends talking down to me like I'm on some kind of trial."

The solution to his problem was technically a compromise, but it would work better than any kind of simple apology. Percy watched Jason and Reyna thin their lips almost in unison, glancing away from him, providing an opening for him to continue speaking.

"The concern for me is appreciated," he went on to placate them. "It shows you both care about the legion and those close to you, which _I_ think is a good quality in leaders. But you can't throw the weight of your position around and expect _me_ to just… defer. I respect both of you. Don't make me change that."

Neither of them looked ashamed, but from their lack of eye contact and silence, Percy felt his point got across. Satisfied with his work, he stood, politely pushing the chair in and giving them a stiff nod. "Thanks for considering my proposal. If you don't mind, I think we should end our meeting."

He didn't wait for them to answer and dismissed himself.

 **[[AaMT]]**

Percy was nearing the barracks when he heard the first beep and click. What followed was another, then another. He looked to the left and saw Abigail there, holding a camera in both hands, tracking his movements.

"Strut it, baby!" She called, a slight lisp to her somewhat deeper voice. "Yes, work it, live it, love it! Your legs stretch for miles! Mhm, oh I love that look you're giving me. Yeah, walk this way. Oh, darling, you're gonna make a fortune on the runway. I'll call this shoot, the 'Percy Jackson Summer Collection.'

She squealed as he got closer. "O-o-o! I love that _fierce_ glare. Give me more!"

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, now standing directly in front of her. Even so, she hadn't moved the camera from her face, still clicking and capturing photos from two feet away.

"Making you famous, darling," she said, still playing her character. "O.M.G. Your eyes are _lovely_. And that jawline. Mmm! A couple of small pimples, but we are teenagers, after all, so nothing to worry about. Oh, I could just eat you up you're so… _handsome_."

"O-kay, we're done here," Percy turned and started walking away.

Abigail caught up with him. "So how'd the meeting go?" Her voice was back to normal.

"Fine."

"Ah-ah-ah!" She wagged her finger. The camera hung from her neck by a wide strap."Don't lie to me. You look constipated."

"I bet you know all about constipated faces," he shot back.

"How'd you figure it out?! That was supposed to be a secret! Now I've gotta delete all those photos!"

Percy wrinkled his nose. "Let's change the subject."

"I like the sound of that. Let's talk about fixing up a new game of strip poker."

"This again? Why?"

Abigail threw her hands up. "Because we never got to play! I mean, you and I were fine. Those guys just wanted a way to get out."

Rolling his eyes, Percy shrugged. "Clearly your persuasion fails against Jason and Reyna when they're worried about your health. Next topic."

"Jeez, fine. So… how'd the meeting go."

"Like I said, it went fine."

This time, her a single eyebrow raised to meet his calm reply. "Really? That's interesting. Not great?"

Percy gave her a tight smile. "Oh, well, you know."

Abigail looked around. She took him by the hand and led him away from the barracks, out of the encampment. He went with her, not in the mood to try resisting. They went off the main road and took a footpath leading toward the southern fields. A small plateau rose over the sunflowers that grew in the stretch below it. They stopped there, atop the overlooking view.

Though uncomfortable with it, Percy didn't attempt to pry his hand out of hers. Instead, he waited, watching her intently. Her expression was difficult to read, especially with him only able to see her profile. He noticed, however, that she hadn't looked at him since they'd left the road behind.

"I've been thinking," she began to say, "about what happened. It's hazy. Broken. Like puzzle pieces that got mixed in with a different set. I remember falling, and how much it hurt, and how I couldn't really believe that I'd just thrown myself in front of you, or how that guy actually used a grenade."

Her hand left his when she chose to sit down, letting her legs dangle off the steep drop. "After that, well, it's mostly just a mess. I was still conscious, but barely. And I heard you."

Percy looked away.

She continued. "I heard you asking for help. Praying. I felt something, though it had been there before you started talking. It was warm, but cold too. Unnatural. I didn't want to look at you, because for a second I thought you might be crying, and I'd rather not see you do that. Too weird, I think."

"And I heard you ask your dad, and I saw your hands glowing. At that moment, I wondered how you could do it—be strong enough to swallow your anger towards him and pray for me. I just couldn't imagine _you_ doing something like that. But… it also made me wonder about who your father is."

Abigail looked at him. "So, as thanks, I want to help you find out. Even if he doesn't claim you, we'll know, and I bet you'll be even stronger afterward."

Percy stared down at her. He wasn't sure what to say, and while he should have been touched by the sentiment, the feeling never came. Maybe if her earnest desire were directed at something else, he'd be grateful. As it was, though, all he could do was smile indulgently.

"Such a sudden change of topic. What brought that on?"

"I don't like seeing you sulk. It's boring, annoying, and it honestly makes me sulk because you aren't in a good mood. So no! No sulking around me! I'll even drop the subject completely if that's what it takes to get your mind off things."

He thinned his lips. "I don't sulk."

"You were doing it just a minute ago."

Percy scoffed. "Fine. Whatever you say. Back to your offer, what if I already knew who my father was?"

"Impossible," Abigail denied flatly. "There's no way you wouldn't have already used the power you had if that were the case. It was instinctive, wasn't it? You trying to heal me."

"So what if it was?"

She shook her head. "Instinct can only get us so far. If we don't understand the power, it'll never be fully realized in us. The best way to get to that point is knowing your godly parent."

"Fair enough," Percy said. "But what if I already knew how to use the power."

"Doubt it," she again rejected. "You'd have healed your hand and leg. Well, maybe just your leg, since those were Lady Vesta's flames you were burned by. And along those lines, you wouldn't have to use ambrosia and nectar so much when we train."

"Really? Why not?"

"Because you have no reason to not use it. Percy, you're the kind of person who likes power. You constantly look for more. That, in and of itself, is a kind of madness. You think we're oblivious to the circles under your eyes?"

He had those? Strange that he hadn't noticed in the mirror. "Off topic, but okay. Are you calling me crazy?"

"A certain kind of crazy, yeah. Camp Jupiter is full of power-hungry people, but you're starving for it. I can tell. It wasn't like that when I first met you. But now?" Abigail's eyes grew heavy. "D'ya wanna talk about it?"

Thinking about it, he realized that he actually did now. He'd been meaning to tell Jason and Reyna, giving them advanced notice of any future occurrences that may see him leaving camp. But with what had happened, going when he'd done so was for the best.

So he hadn't told anyone else about the problems he faced. Pax knew, but couldn't help. Or maybe she didn't want to. Whatever the case, Percy felt like getting it off his chest. There weren't many other people he would rather tell than Abigail, he supposed.

Percy moved, taking a seat on the ledge. "A while back, I made an oath to my Mom. I swore on whatever deity may have been listening. I broke that oath. Not only that, but I made the oath without intention to keep it."

"I left camp not too long ago, went home, found Frank. I noticed something was wrong at the front door. Turns out, my Mom's having her soul or life-force or whatever drained. Apparently, this god, Orcus, has his sights set on me."

Abigail made a disgruntled sound. "Gods… I'm sorry."

"I am too. If it weren't for me, she would be fine. It's my fault. I hate it. I hate him."

"That's why you want power?"

"I need it."

"How long does she have?"

Percy shot her an ugly glare. "Don't talk like she's already dead. I'm gonna fix this."

Abigail's eyes widened. "You can't be serious. What are you trying to do?"

He looked down at the sunflower field, gripping his bracelet tight in his good hand. "I'm going down there. To the Underworld. And I'll make sure he never bothers me again."

"No way," she breathed, "you're insane. Actually insane. You think you can just waltz into the Underworld, find Orcus, and, what, beat him up until he agrees to leave you alone? That's crazy! Do you even know where to look?"

"Fields of Punishment. That's his little slice of heaven."

"Really? That's not surprising, I guess… wait, Percy, that's not his domain, right?"

"None of the books say, but it makes sense that it would be," he said.

"Then you really _can't_ go down there!" she insisted. "You can't fight a _god_ in their own territory. Imagine fighting Neptune below the sea, or Jupiter on Olympus, or even Pluto in his palace."

Percy scowled. His anger was building again, but he made sure to keep it under his skin this time. "I've fought gods and Titans before. I won against Pallas."

"You had help!"

She had a good point there. Percy had only stopped one part of Pallas' total conscious. If Jason, Reyna, and Vesta hadn't won against the other, more powerful part, Percy would have died. The thought stung.

"And that's why I've been preparing."

"You'll die." She gave him a pitiful glance. "There's no question. You'll die."

"Who's side are you on?" Percy said, trying to chuckle playfully. It honestly came out more grave than he'd intended.

"I'm on Jason and Reyna's side," Abigail said. "If they have to fight more Titans, who's gonna help them if you go and get yourself killed. Don't do this."

"I can win. I'll find a way. Gods—immortals—they all have weaknesses. I can play off that."

She stared at him, mouth hanging ajar. "Are you kidding me? Sure, they've got weaknesses, but they're also about five-times stronger than any regular demigod. Not to mention their divine forms won't even let you look at 'em. Once they get all jacked up on god-roids, it'd be suicide to even consider a fight."

Percy closed his eyes. "I can't ignore this. I wish it weren't a problem, but it is. I really wish this would blow over. How would you feel if your mother was slowly having her soul taken?"

What little wind there had been ceased to blow. An unsettling pause stifled the valley, not unlike what he'd felt when he tried to heal Abigail. It was a sensation of something inexplicable.

Opening his eyes again, he looked over curiously, wanting an answer to his question. "You wouldn't care?"

She bit her bottom lip. "I would care. Don't know that it would be very much. Maybe I'd be kinda guilty, but I wouldn't risk my life to save her."

Though he wanted to respond mockingly, Percy held back the impulse, instead choosing to say, "House Delfini. Cato called it illustrious."

Abigail snorted. "Delfini can be traced back to ancient Rome, going by a different name. Mercury favored us as merchants and traders. Ours was a house he visited on occasion to have children. After Rome fell, we were recognized as one of the apostolic families in Venice. Funny thing, too, since it was one of my ancestors who helped sack Constantinople and technically doom the Fourth Crusade."

"Really?"

"Dolfin Dolfin," she affirmed with a nod.

Percy managed to chuckle, glad the conversation's tone had shifted a bit. "That was his name? Dolfin Dolfin? That's just awful."

Abigail joined him in his quiet, somewhat morbid laughter. "I know right?"

When they settled, he looked over. "I guess it's kinda weird for me to hear someone sound so callous talking about their mom."

She hummed. "Some people don't have good relationships with their parents."

"You included?"

"Good try, Jackson," she gave his arm a light swat. "But I'm not that easy."

"Then I won't press," he said. "I've never really imagined a life without someone like Mom there to be with me. And I don't plan on starting anytime soon. That's why… that's why I'm gonna save her. Orcus won't know what hit 'im."

"Nothing I say is gonna change your mind, huh?"

"'Fraid not. I'll save her."

"Now I see why Lady Vesta called you a hero," Abigail snickered. Her eyes traveled up and down his body a few times. "Heroes are all just a little bit crazy, doing what they do. But, promise you'll tell me before you head off to the Underworld. I may be able to help somehow."

Percy, skeptical of her sudden change of heart, raised an eyebrow. "Why decide to help when you seemed pretty sure I was gonna die?"

She rubbed her arms, and, growing a sheepish smile, met Percy's skepticism abashedly. "You sound so… sure. I guess I felt like maybe… you do have a chance at pulling this off. Don't get me wrong, you're still crazy—like, Grade A—but that doesn't mean your confidence isn't inspiring."

"I mean," she gestured oddly, wiggling her hands from side to side, "you gave me goosebumps. 'That's why I'm gonna save her. I'll save her.' Very cool, very noble. And so, I decided to reward your bravery. Or is it stupidity? Either way, you get a prize!"

"Really?" Percy drawled. "Do tell how I'm being rewarded, then."

"The first part is hush-hush, so I can't tell you right now," Abigail said, scooting closer to where he sat. Soon, she was less than a foot away, her shoulder brushing against his, and her right hand closing on top of his left. "The second part, though, I have no problem demonstrating."

Percy knew it was coming. He did nothing to stop Abigail as she leaned over and kissed him softly. He closed his eyes, expecting something similar to that night in the library to start, only to open them again when he felt her lips leave.

"Well, would you look at the time," she muttered, frowning down at her watch. Jaw tight, eyes narrowed, and expression pinched, Abigail rolled away from the ledge, patting her jeans clean of dirt. "Sorry, Percy. I've gotta get to New Rome."

"No problem."

"I'll make it up to you!" She had already started to walk away. "How about this weekend? Dinner at FroCia?"

FroCia was one of New Rome's best restaurants. He'd never been because the prices were astounding. Oh, he had wanted to go, since there were only good things to be heard about the service, food, and atmosphere, but there hadn't been much reason other than vain spending. Now that he was being invited, though, it sounded like a good chance to live expensively.

"Sure," he called to her, seeing that Abigail had slowed to let him speak. "Only if you pay though!"

Percy had meant it as a joke, but felt defeated when he saw a smile split Abigail's face. He did see, in a fleeting moment of hyper-attentiveness, a scrap of something pained. Being the excellent actor she was, though, not a hint of it was relayed by her cheerful voice.

"It's a date then! I'll gladly pay if you're willing to play afterward!"

And then, with those crude insinuations, she jogged away, much like she was wont to do.

 **[[AaMT]]**

Though he should have seen it coming, Percy still felt annoyed when Jason and Reyna had told him they wouldn't be considering his personal proposal for the time. It was too bad, but not completely out of the blue. He hadn't made the most compelling argument yesterday when they'd confronted him about their unfounded concerns. They had, however, apologized to him for the heavy accusations thrown; though neither had been willing to tell him where such a senseless idea had come from.

The thought still made him simmer. There wasn't a thing he could do now, so instead he chose to let sleeping dogs lie and move onto other things. In fact, he would have been doing just that, if only his praetors hadn't invited him along to the Senate meeting they had called earlier.

He supposed it was solace enough, then, knowing he'd been given a chance to accompany them when he otherwise had no right doing so. Ironic, that he'd been seated, in cuffs, down on the stage not even a week ago. And now he looked down from the top row. He could see everybody else, while nobody else could see him.

Jason and Reyna, who'd just taken their seats, discussed something between themselves while the senators and ghosts settled. From where he was, Percy couldn't hear the idle conversations being held by those around him but figured them mundane nonetheless.

For some reason, nobody seemed quite as concerned about the Titan threat as Jason. Even Reyna, who had seen what Pallas could do first-hand, didn't strike him as suitably tense.

It took longer than Percy would have liked, but the meeting eventually started with Jason thanking everybody for their quick assembly.

"And you must all be wondering why we asked to gather today," he said. "Believe me when I say we wish this course of action is the undisputed right one, but I don't think it'd be seen so cut and dry."

Reyna picked up when she noticed Jason beginning to trail. "We don't take this lightly. That's why we've come before the Senate to legitimize our actions."

Percy felt a smirk creep onto his face. He glanced at where he knew Octavian sat.

"I don't think anybody is following you," Michael said. "What's going on?"

Jason cleared his throat. "Given what's coming, it has been brought to our attention that, compared to the Titan forces, our own is quite small. Additionally, the "reserves" are no better than a semi-trained militia. We saw this in the Labyrinthine Invasion last year. The monsters didn't get close to the city, and yet, we had able-bodied citizens guarding… what? Brick, marble, and material things? There aren't even proper weapons in the city."

He shook his head, frowning. "And while those living in New Rome deserve their earned retirement, it wouldn't do them any good if the main body of the legion was destroyed. They would be ill-equipped to handle war. I think we can all agree that the monsters would have overwhelmed us if we hadn't destroyed the entrance to the Labyrinth."

Scattered muttering met his words. Percy leaned forward on his bench, waiting to hear how his praetor would touch on the subject.

"Taking all this into account," Reyna said, barely missing a beat, "we believe we've found a rather simple solution. While at war, we cannot be separated. And so, to that end, Camp Jupiter is being placed in a state of emergency. This is non-negotiable. The Senate, until Saturn and his ilk have been dealt with, will no longer hold the same authority as the office of the praetor."

She hesitated for a moment but pushed through before anybody could start commenting. "At the risk of sounding like a tyrant, I'll say this: consolidation of power was clearly needed. We _will_ be enacting policies that may be disfavored. After the war ends, if you wish to remove us from office, so be it. However, until then, Jason and I will do our best to make sure the Titans are defeated."

Jason moved his stony frown over the audience. "If any would protest, let them speak."

The room had gone silent. Even the Lares were unnaturally stiff. The advising senators shifted quietly, looking at each other as if to confirm their silence. Though they didn't appear comfortable giving up their power, Percy could tell they struggled to find good, solid reasons for a repeal of the decision.

Even if someone did have qualms, they had no choice but to keep quiet. Speaking out would be tantamount to questioning Reyna and Jason's integrity. And even though most of the civilians were older, few could claim to have accomplished half of what Jason and Reyna had.

"Nobody?" Jason asked, giving Octavian a not-so-subtle glance. "None at all?"

Met with nothing, he raised his eyebrows and looked at Reyna, who shrugged. He nodded slowly. "Okay. Then we can get into our plans to expand citizen conscription and prepare the valley's defenses."

Percy, relatively contented with how things panned out, blocked out the rest of the talking and reflected on everything else that solicited his attention.

* * *

 **A/N: This was a tough one to write. Mostly the first and last part. I've played mainly on paranoia this chapter, with all the major characters, and it really felt... odd, I suppose. I might have been too heavy-handed. Well, it's done, and all through one person's perspective, so obviously things aren't completely as they seem.**

* * *

 _ **Review Response-**_

 **Malosi06: People seemed very in favor of strip poker. You're right that Paxeus sounds better. Thanks for the well-wishes, and right back atcha!**

 **Jet: I hope you like this one too!**

 **Superkami God: I may just be crazy enough to skip strip poker. The cinnamon roll was just to whet your appetite for what comes even later into the story.**

 **Guest: Thanks. I've been thinking on how to make Octavian a suitable challenge for Percy. I think, as part of his development, I may have something solid to work with, though. Again, thanks for the feedback.**


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